


Gilded

by tinkerheck



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 151,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkerheck/pseuds/tinkerheck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Work - and life - continue for the Demon Butler. </p><p>[NOTE: Gilded was uploaded to Archive of Our Own all at once in February of 2013, in its completed state. It was finished in August of 2012.]</p><p>~COMPLETE~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ++++++++ disclaimer ++++++++  
> I do not own Kuroshitsuji, aka Black Bulter, in any of its forms or related media. I do not own these characters. I spent money to learn about this series, and I make no money in borrowing it.
> 
> ++++++++ story notes ++++++++  
> Set in the anime universe, after the end of the series, with minor references to the manga as well. Written in first-person Sebastian ('Alexander'). SPOILERS: This fic assumes you have seen the anime series and the OVAs.  
> Although I do not consider this an AU, please do so if it makes you more comfortable. (You'll have to decide for yourself, and you'll have to read it to do that!)  
> The tags & warnings I selected cover the entire fic, from beginning to end. As such, you will not find all of these situations in every chapter, and some will not show up until late into this fic.  
> I have no respect for overly-organized religions, or the zealots that follow them, because they have no respect for me. If I have written something that illustrates this perspective and it offends you, please simply stop reading this fic.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> This started as a one-shot. This chapter, technically, has its own ending. However, I decided to continue.  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

+

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 1**

 

+

 

 

There is something I need for you to understand about my job. Something about human souls.

There is an insanely large difference between souls whose innocence or naiveté – or, sadly, _stupidity_ – simply fulfills our dietary needs when eaten, versus a soul that has been put to the test, beat to the ground, and has managed to stand back up again. All on its own.

These souls possess… a _different_ kind of purity, and they draw us near like moths to a flame.

A guileless nature is appealing to a vengeance demon such as myself, no doubt. But it’s an easy mark. All humans are born _tabula rasa_. It is the bread and butter of our existences. Shooting fish in a barrel, I believe the human expression goes. A demon could survive quite nicely on the entrapment of common innocent souls, despite that their potency is weak and it takes tens or even hundreds of those kinds of souls to equal the power and pleasure you get from one of the other ones. They are _such_ easy prey that you could equate them to fast food.

Your demonic tummy grumbles, so you pull up to the ultimate soul food (pun fully intended) drive in, pick a dish that’s aching to be plucked for whatever reason, and grab a quick bite. Fast, easy, cheap.

And, unlike your human fast food, they are severely lacking in calories, as you’ll find that not much longer than a phase of the moon passes and your strength wanes. You’ll need to eat another one. However, such a catch is so easy that you do not mind. You become complacent, and feeding once a month or so on food that is easy to eat no longer becomes a chore. It becomes… existence. And that’s all.

Most of us are lazy, just like you. We will go for the easy kill.

However, some of us get bored _._ It takes a couple thousand years of being a demon, but we crave more. We want a challenge. I do think of myself as a demon in this category, although I have not always succeeded.

Once beyond a certain age, or after having had an extreme experience, a human’s clean slate begins to tarnish. What happens after that is what makes the difference between fast food and the uncommon, delicious soul.

A soul whose purity is worth savoring, a _complicated_ soul, takes considerable more effort to obtain. However, it is worth it in the end. It can last you several decades, sometimes even centuries, before you need to feed again.

These souls are difficult. They are often smart humans, who do not suffer fools gladly. The belief systems of the society that they live in usually mark them as ‘jaded’ or ‘sullied’.

I am here to tell you, that is _so_ not the case.

Bitter, yes. But non-pure? No. Not these rare souls. Most have seen tragedy; some have suffered horrors such as famine, war, slavery or rape, to name just a few of the disgusting exploits that humans have invented to entertain themselves. These souls have been tested and tested again, only to prove their worthiness each time.

Over the millennia, I have noticed that the less worthy seem to have a low opinion of these individuals, while simultaneously depending upon them to fix all that is wrong in their measly lives – such an obvious irony! It eventually led me to feel sick at the thought of eating unworthy souls simply for sustenance. With nothing else at the buffet, I will elect to bide my time and go hungry, thank you very much.

The worthy are rubbed the wrong way by life to the point where they realize their lot is never going to change – life will always _suck,_ as it were, and they will die tired, bitter and misunderstood, mostly due to their worthless peers.

Silly human belief systems label these as the _fallen_. They are humans that have given up and are angry, they have ‘lost their way to the light’ – an intensely nauseating turn of phrase, by the way – and they need to be _saved_.

No, they don’t. _They already are._ They saved themselves a long time ago. It’s the rest of you idiots that could use some honest salvation. And most of you wouldn’t know just exactly what that entailed if it were to march up and bite off your privates.

The worthy soul is strong and capable. They make mistakes and then they correct their behavior in turn. They do good deeds without having the need to be seen doing it. They love, _deeply_ – despite outward inclinations. A contract for such a soul is hard-won, very involved… and a disastrous bitch if broken. Under such circumstances, a demon does not get punished or humiliated, as a human might imagine. One simply develops an ache, and it never goes away.

But the fulfillment is worth any effort, and the wait–

Oh, the wait.

_So achingly delicious._

Such a soul was my young master, Ciel Phantomhive. The one that got away. I did not want his soul because it was innocent. I wanted it because it had seen tragedy, it had sought revenge, and it was still intense. _Pure_. Over time I came to love Ciel; yes, you heard correct, I did not say lust – although I am convinced that I’d have taken him that way as well, if we’d had more years together as human master and demon servant.

You do not believe me? That is too bad. I do not lie, ever. Demons are capable of love. We know nothing of heaven, but we know plenty about love.

I loved him, and then I lost him. Due to outside interference the chance to fulfill our contract was ripped from us. I say it now: if I ever run into any of those four again, I will dismember them with my bare hands on principle alone. Alois Trancy did not simply give us a ‘taste’ of his grief; he gave us an eternity of it, and then he and his comrades moved on to an unearned reward at our bloody fucking expense.

Ciel’s soul was no longer ‘him’ _,_ as it were. I don’t even think _he_ knew who he was anymore. The contract was still in effect but my delicious meal had been stolen from me. We decided to leave for Hell together.

As expected, he put up with his new living space like the trooper he is, but he did not take to being an actual demon. He was young and brash and foolish – I still called him my _Young Master,_ for the contract was still in place, and I treated him as such. But he simply would not take my advice. I don’t think he was a lazy or stupid demon. He probably would have made a very good one, if his heart had been in it.

It turns out Ciel had a death wish, and it wasn’t long before it came true. He would taunt and pester our demonic peers, until one day he finally went too far – or perhaps I should say as far as he finally _needed_ to go? Either way, I was late in coming to his aid, but he managed a glance at me before his opponent could strike the killing blow.

Ciel did not look angry in that moment, or even sad. He was moving on, to what I do not know, and he seemed at peace. I still dream about that beautiful face.

Ciel was destroyed. He vanished, and the contract mark evaporated from my hand in that very instant. Infuriated, I tore his killer to shreds.

I am indeed vicious, you see.

Take heed, Claude Faustus, Alois Trancy. Being torn apart is also your fate should you grow lax in avoiding me. And for the record, I will _not_ endeavor to be gentle.

 

+

 

“Are you composing a symphony?”

I startled her, this Miss Gilda Franks, and she glanced at me with wide, dark green eyes.

When her file showed up in our office as a candidate for revenge, I read it immediately, just as I do all of them. I confess I spend more time reading files than I do actually approaching the marks. That’s how I find them, the delicious ones.

Her file suggested she was pretty and young. Just my type.

It also said she was seventeen, a hard case, a prodigy, had herself declared an emancipated minor last year upon early graduation from high school, and was attending a musical conservatory on a partial scholarship (and was already thirty grand in debt because of it).

Ah, money. The easiest form of entrapment.

I didn’t think she was going to be that easy, though. I certainly _hoped_ she was not going to be that easy.

“Um. Yeah,” she said, voice full of hesitation. Her file also said she was quite wary of men, mostly due to her bastard of a biological father.

“May I see?”

She looked up at me then, her green eyes flashing. “Nope.”

“Very well. Is this seat taken?” I asked, smiling lightly and pointing to the chair opposite her. She was consuming, illegally, an alcoholic beverage at a small outdoor café. The table was built for two, but she was there alone.

Gilda looked me up and down, carefully taking in my appearance before answering.

This was America, and it was nineteen ninety-three. I didn’t wear the same thing I wore during Ciel’s time, but the butler thing was still my shtick. I was so very good at it, you see.

In fact, I am one _hell_ … oh, you get the picture.

These days I wore thin black leather gloves, tailored black business trousers with a simple black leather belt, shiny black oxfords (with _tassels!)_ , black socks, and a black button down shirt made from the finest long-staple Egyptian cotton. Pocket watch gone, I now wore an expensive silver watch with a black leather strap.

My undergarments, since I am _positive_ you are wondering about them, were boxers and a “t” shirt, both of black silk.

It was acceptable for the day and age, and still within my personal rules that I should look very, very desirable.

“Are you a nut-job?”

She managed to pull me out of my reverie.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t want you to sit down at my table if you are crazy. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.”

“And yet you are so young,” I said smoothly, sitting down.

A waiter came over within seconds, flipped his little book open and asked me what I’d be ordering.

“Coffee. Black.”

I had no intention of drinking it, but at least it would go perfect with my outfit.

The pimply-faced server rolled his eyes and walked off.

“I see I’m going to have company whether I want it or not,” she sighed. “So what’s your name?”

I smirked at her. May as well start the game right now, yes?

“What do you think it is?”

She smiled half-heartedly. _Adorable_. Looking away, she shook her head.

“Listen, I’ve heard some cheesy lines before, but that…” The girl looked back at me, smiling sweetly. “You want me to _guess_ your name?”

I laughed quietly. _She wouldn’t even be able to pronounce it, let alone read it._

“No,” I began, smiling back at her just as sweetly while folding my gloved hands on top of the table. I tried to ignore how filthy it was. “I want you to pick a name that you feel would suit me, if, say, we were to… get to know one another.”

Her face dipped low, and her eyes bore into me. It was the kind of expression I’ve often seen adult humans giving their offspring when said offspring are acting strangely or unreasonably.

“You want me to _name_ you?”

I tried to avoid smirking, but as usual, could not help myself. Little Miss Hard Case... It was all beginning to make sense.

“Yes. Play along. You will like this game.”

I should have scolded myself for using a statement that smacked of self-fulfilling prophecy. It was far too soon for such things.

Still, if she truly thought I was a ‘nut-job’, she wasn’t calling the security guard over just yet. In fact, her pheromone levels were beginning to rise. That, combined with the sweetness of her particular soul made for a very heady brew. Kind of like my young master, but older. Just as sexually appealing, but of course more feminine. She was a intoxicating – _exactly_ like Ciel – and I had to remind myself to focus.

It was obvious to me by then that the little fool had _no_ idea just how vulnerable a target she was to most demons. All demons have hobbies or tendencies, just like humans. Some focus on sex appeal, like myself. Did you think those stilettos were just for show, darling? How silly of you. And _no_ , you may _not_ try them on.

Some demons like accomplishing things, others just like the chase and kill aspect of our existences. But it doesn’t really matter what their hobbies are; the fact of the matter is that most of them simply do not enjoy the games we play. Most of them are only in it for the kill, the victory, the proverbial notching of a bedpost…

The sucking of a soul. Quantity versus quality. _Fast food._

They make me ill, my colleagues.

There are so many more delicacies to be had in my profession. All one has to do is look a little closer.

I have never eaten human food, but I ask you, which is better? Eating a bar of chocolate – the good stuff, mind you, do not waste your hard-earned money on a bar of shit – in two unmannerly gulps? Or would you rather rip the wrapper off slowly, in pieces, teasingly, admiring the shiny foil liner as it lays in your hand, smelling the delightful aroma before you even peel it back to see the treat… Then taking your time, taking just one reasonable bite… you savor the dark, rich flavor, rolling the pungent creaminess over your tongue until it melts so softly and you nearly cum in your under things from all the pleasure it’s providing you with, until finally, _finally_ you swallow it, ever so slowly. Then you look down at your hand and you see that you have many more bites to go.

You may even decide that one bite was enough for now, and you put the rest of it away for later. In a safe spot. A place where another jealous demon, or a jealous reaper, or a jealous human nut-job (I was beginning to like that expression) cannot steal it from you.

Whoever said this had it wrong – life itself is not likened to a box of chocolates, it is rather a human soul that can be. Gilda’s soul is definitely made of very fine chocolate. While committing sin is a concept that I am all-too-familiar with, wasting _her_ soul with one gulp would indeed be a very great sin.

But such a soul can captivate to the point you begin making mistakes. Perhaps that is why I carried things out too long with Ciel Phantomhive…

She startled me out of my reverie with her sweet voice.

“M’kay… I’ll go with…” She narrowed her eyes and tapped her lip with her finger.

Feathers and boots! She was so pretty in the simplest ways. How could I have not seen it before? Such a joy, discovering things about you humans.

“Alexander. You look like an Alexander to me.”

I nodded. This was a very good name. If we contracted, I would hear her sweet voice calling out to me – _where are you, Alexander?_ Or perhaps _save me Alexander!_ I am sure to hear the over-abused _Alexander, kill this wretch_.

From one such as her, or my former young master, I’d prefer to hear the line _make me come like a cat in heat, Alexander_.

Yes, I know. That was a teensy bit presumptuous of me.

“Alexander it is, then.”

Absentmindedly, I straightened what was found in front of me, tinny utensils that were trying to pass for silverware and a vulgar paper napkin – _sacrilege!_ This was apparently meant to be a place setting? Despite the fact that it would never be anything more than what it was, which was utter crap, I arranged the items in nice, perpendicular lines. The ‘knife’ couldn’t cut into an apple tart neatly, let alone a human body. I heaved a sigh.

While the unfortunate ending to the experience with my darling Ciel had left me in ruins for a very long time, it’s true, I still sincerely and from the depths of my heart _missed_ buttling.

When I looked up at her, I realized that I had been off in my own fantasy world again, dreaming of crisp linens and polished handrails.

“My deepest apologies. What did you say?”

“I said, did you want to name me too, or shall we go with what was given?”

She had wit, and a sharp tongue. All the delicious ones do.

“Please tell me your name.”

“It’s Gilda.”

I knew this, of course. But should I tell her what else I knew?

Oh, what the hell. It’d just be a _little_ hint, after all.

“Gilda?”

“Yes,” she responded, suddenly cautious. “Okay, so it’s not a beautiful name. It’s not like _Alexander_ or anything,” she smiled, “But… that’s my name.”

Wait – did she just inadvertently call me beautiful? I shook my head again to clear it.

“Gilda. That’s Teutonic. Germanic. It means offering. Or…” _perhaps more appropriately in **your** case,_ I did not say out loud, “a _sacrifice._ ”

The only sacrifice I was interested in seeing her make was letting me dine on her soul. However, if Gilda’s name was also her nature (your names often are, incidentally, but I am sorry to say you rarely back it up) it could prove problematic.

She shrugged her shoulders high, giving me a sheepish look.

“Well… shit happens, _Alexander_. What can I say?”

The waiter brought my coffee, finally, and I paid the bill before he could ask me what I wanted to eat. He rolled his eyes and walked off again, leaving me wondering why I had bothered to give the little mongrel a tip.

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Gilda.”

“Oh, here it comes,” she said, annoyed, and beginning to get up. “I fucking _knew_ it–”

“No, please. Wait.”

She sat back down in her seat and eyed me.

“All right. What is it?”

“Would you like to form a contract with me?”

 

+

 

At first she got upset again, because she thought I was suggesting that we get a motel room and engage in illicit sex. I laughed, promptly establishing that I was not a prostitute, and said, “You are engaging in underage drinking as we speak. Did you think I was going to add underage sex to your day?”

From the moment I sat down, Gilda smelled like she had hot, delicious, reactive blood. And now she was confirming it, as blush number one suddenly appeared. Lucky, lucky me, there would be many more to follow.

I was proud of myself, at least, that I managed to keep her attention on me for the next twenty minutes while I explained to her what I was and what I could offer. Eventually she sensed that I was not going to hurt her, so she listened carefully, and asked a few very pointed questions about the contract. Her intelligence and candid nature surprised me. To her credit, I could tell she absolutely did not believe me, but she did not run away screaming or demand security come and toss me out.

Of course, the fact that she would have been in hot water for holding underage liquor in her hands might have added to that decision. But I digress.

When I had said all that I could, she leaned back, and scrutinized me.

It did not make me uncomfortable. Beautiful people are used to being stared at, and unlike most humans, I happen to enjoy it.

“All right,” Gilda suddenly stated, as she picked up the notebook she had been composing on, and flipped to a blank page. “I’ll make a list. I _love_ list-making,” she said, winking, looking delightfully older than her seventeen years. “I’ll weigh the pros and cons. Just to amuse you, you know?” She smiled at me as she clicked the end of her cheap pen. There was genuine warmth in her expression. I’ve seen the opposite enough to recognize it immediately.

Could it be that my abundant natural sex appeal was actually getting under Little Miss Hard Case’s beautiful skin?

Then again, it might have been the alcohol in her beverage. I made a mental note to remember to keep her from imbibing without me being close at hand for any needed rescues should we decide to form a contract. Can’t have the client going off and getting her delectable soul lost to another because of intoxication, now can we?

At the very least, if she thought me to be an insane person she was being very polite about it. Manners are a rare thing, so full marks to her.

“Are you going to make this really abstract? Because I can’t form an opinion over that.”

A student of the arts. Yes, she was.

“All I can say to that, Gilda, is that I do not lie. Nor will I ever.”

She bit her lip for a moment, staring at me in consideration. I found myself wanting to offer my services prematurely, as in, I would gladly bite her lip for her.

“Okay then… Let’s start with the cons, shall we?”

I nodded.

“The payment for this contract will be my soul, right?”

I nodded again.

“So, that means death, right?”

“Yes. I promise to be gentle, of course.”

“Uh huh,” she eyed me. “Okay, that’d be number one. And of course, loss of the ownership of my soul is number two.”

“You consider death to be more tragic than the loss of your immortal soul?”

“Well… At present, I _know_ I’m alive. The jury is still out on whether or not the rest is even true.”

I tilted my head at her. “You’re agnostic?”

“Leaning towards atheist, but, yeah.”

“I see.”

Believe it or not, I do have some moral obligations to my prey. One is making sure they understand what they are getting themselves into. I was going to have to convince Gilda more thoroughly of the very real consequences of any decision she might make, and _before_ we contracted.

_Lovely. An atheist with a sacrificial nature. I do so love a good challenge…_

“So, what happens next? Eternal suffering?”

“That depends on your definition of suffering.”

“Well, the traditional definitions of damnation are daily burning, daily beatings, probably rape, dismemberment only to have the limb grow back overnight so it can be pulled off again… Those sorts of things.”

She was eyeing me critically as though she was writing out a list for the grocer’s.

“That would be someone’s idea of Hell. I am not offering you Hell, nor anyone’s _vision_ of it. I would eat your very soul at the end, and then you would belong to me, would be inside of me. No burning or dismembering – but only because I would now be in charge of your own private eternity and I’m not really into that sort of thing. It’s distasteful, and frankly, too much maintenance.”

“So, what then?”

I paused. Most humans did not get this part. I had a tiny bit of hope that she would.

“Oblivion.”

She stopped writing and gaped at me. Yes, she gets it. And her soft mouth, while ever-so-slightly open like that? Gods, I wanted to kiss her, surprise her, feel those pretty pink lips making that ‘o’ shape right on top of my own mouth and twirl my tongue right into it…

“Really?” she finally asked. “That’s bad. I don’t like that.”

“You understand oblivion?”

“I’ve had some dreams that were… Well. Whatever. I read. I’m fairly intelligent. I get the concept. And _that_ concept has moved to the number one spot.”

“Over death and losing ownership of your soul?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Oblivion is right up there with getting eaten by a shark. Only it’s worse, because it’s for… always. Right?”

“Correct.”

“Kay…” she intoned, slightly nervous. “This isn’t really a con so much as curiosity, but what about how you carry out your part of this contract? I don’t care for slackers. Are you thorough?”

“Viciously so,” I said, smiling my sexiest, most evil smile.

She had the gall to grin at me, the little minx.

“Here’s a con – maybe. Will I have to watch?”

“That is entirely up to you.”

She paused. “That’s… vague. Your answer is too ambivalent. But, I guess the question was ambivalent too, so that’s not going in either column.” She crossed out some lines and wrote a few small notes next to them. “Listen, the oblivion thing has thrown me – I mean, how many souls have you eaten? How many people do you already have in there?”

“Thousands,” I answered, truthfully and without ego. It shames me to say that nearly all of them had been fast food, and eaten when I was a very young demon. Then my tastes went and grew up, damn it all.

“And they are _all_ in oblivion? They don’t even … I don’t know, _run into_ each other in some sort of communal nothingness?”

“The very notion of community would–”

“Yeah, yeah, it destroys the concept of oblivion. I get it. Will I be aware of _you_?”

I smiled at her. I couldn’t help myself. Affection is a strange thing.

“Would you _want_ to be aware of me?”

“Can you just answer the question?”

“No.” I decided to let her take that anyway she wanted, and Gilda rolled her eyes.

“So you do not lie, but you are allowed to be vague. Great. Are you aware of me, while I’m… in there?” she asked, pointing in the general vicinity of my chest.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” she sighed. “Back to the list. Can you tell me anything else that I should put in the cons column? Not that oblivion isn’t horrible enough…” Her voice drifted off, sounding slightly put off.

“Yes. Well. As we accomplish your goal, we _may_ have to deal with some of my… peers… as they attempt to thwart my contract with you.”

I conveniently left out the part that Grell Sutcliff, the Gay Red Reaper, was likely to show up, acting jealous. He behaved badly enough in the past with regard to my unshakable affections for Ciel. Should this girl and I choose to bed each other… Gods only knew how that _nut-job_ would react.

“They may try to get their hands on you themselves, either for the eating or the killing.”

She made that ‘o’ again with her lips. Heaven’s belt…

“I will protect you, Gilda. You have my word.”

She shook her head, still confused. “Why on earth would they want _me_?”

I looked away. Just how much was I going to have to reveal to get my mark on her?

“You… smell good. You taste just as nice, I have no doubt. Your soul is remarkably pure for a human. For some of us, you are even irresistible.”

“No, no way. I’ve done bad shit just like everyone else. I lost my virginity at twelve, I’ve done drugs, I swear, I eat fatty foods–”

“ _No_. Those are slips. You’ve _slipped_ , that is all, and they were very small slips my dear. The life you have led thus far is one of integrity. And that is due to your uniquely bright soul. Your soul is quite clean.” She narrowed her eyes at me. I smiled down on her pretty face, sweet and genuine. “You know I am right.”

She pursed her lips. “Well. All right.” Gilda worked her pen over the _cons_ column one last time. “Supernatural bad guys might… _steal_ me.” She looked up at me, questioning her interpretation. I nodded my acceptance.

Gilda finally moved to the _pros_ column and immediately filled in something. “Alexander will protect me from said supernatural bad guys.”

I nodded again, smiling happily. I _would_ protect her. Just as sure as I would eat her up, eventually. Slowly, with my bare hands. Maybe I’d even go down on her while I did it, just to give her one last thrill–

Noticing my lack of focus, she cocked an eyebrow and drew a single line through both that pro and that con, as they had cancelled each other out.

“Okay, I’m adding that you’ll ‘end my life gently’ to the pro column, so that makes it three-one. But I can cross out _death_ from the con column along with it, so…” She made the marks. “Now it’s two-none. You need to give me more pros, Alex.”

“The obvious one – You will have the revenge you seek.”

“Revenge. Yeah, that’s a biggie,” she said, marking the pro column again. “Two-one. What else?”

“You will never have to soil your hands. I will do all that for you. I will do many things for you.”

And _to_ you, if I get my way. Heh.

“Killing people or… That’s not a con. Plus, I haven’t even told you what it is that I _want_ yet.”

“I am not talking about completing the contract now. I have _skills_ that I will happily put to whatever use your heart desires, until the contract is fulfilled.”

“I’m confused. What exactly are you offering me here?”

“Miss Gilda, I am… one _hell_ of a butler.”

Slowly, she tilted her head at me. Sublime happiness covered her entire face.

“A butler, huh? Yeesh. No one has _ever_ taken care of me before. That’d be nice. _Very_ nice,” she said, smiling, and made a note. “So, on top of performing unsavory acts to secure my revenge, you’d include all of the normal butler things? You know, keeping track of my schedule, preparing my food, all that?”

“Yes, All of it. The idea – at least this is the way _I_ handle my contracts – is to keep you happy and satisfied until our time together is done. I would never ask you to suffer in exchange for your soul, with the exception of your actual death – and again, I promise to be gentle regarding that. Whatever suffering you encounter after I consume you is largely up to you.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. Time to get back on the subject of my ace-in-the-hole.

“This is one very large pro. _I will be your butler._ I will prepare and bring your meals to you, I will clean up after you. I will wake you up in the mornings, bathe and dress you, tend to your schedule and any needs or whims you have throughout the day, and I will bathe you again and tuck you into your bed at night.”

She raised her eyebrows. Giving me an incredulous look, Gilda scoffed at me.

“Oh, _come on.”_

“Yes. And without an ounce of suggestive behavior,” I said, then added quietly, “ _If_ that is how you want things.”

Her mouth opened with the intent to respond, then she stopped herself. A blush started in her cheeks, deepening as she turned away from me, smiling. I knew what she was thinking. There was all that delicious blood, you see, rising to the occasion.

“Of course, if you want something more than that, we can negotiate the terms as we go. Either way, _that_ will have no effect on our contract.”

She kept her eyes off of me, and bit her lip. Gilda took her time scribbling another entry in the pro column. When she was done, my gloved hand shot out like a lightning bolt and removed the notebook from her hands.

“Hey, I–”

She was beet red, smelled glorious, and I proceeded to read aloud what she had written.

“Let me see if you have it right. _‘I will be taken care of by a devastatingly hot butler, who will wait on me hand and foot. He may also fuck me silly for free, if I ask nicely’.”_

I cleared my throat. “Tch. Such _language_ ,” I finally said, smirking as I handed her notebook back to her. She took it, slightly mortified and refusing eye contact. _So fetching_. I knew she was not a virgin, but holy stones – how much more appealing was she going to get?

“I will not disagree with you that I am devastatingly hot, but kindly remove the last part of that entry, Miss Gilda, if you would.”

“Oh… sorry. My bad,” she said, chastened, and blushing harder now because of it. I didn’t like that. _Chastened_ did not suit her.

She had misunderstood me.

“The only reason being is that I will gladly do _that_ to you whether we form a contract together or not.”

She gaped at me again. The ‘o’ was now an ‘O’. Something besides my tongue would fit quite nicely in there now.

I was getting distracted again. Trying to calm her nerves, I added, “So you see, in the interest of fairness, you cannot count that as a pro.”

She cleared her throat now, scratching out the vulgarity. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she muttered. I believe the correct name is _magenta_? Anyhow, it was a pretty color and it was decorating every inch of her skin that was visible by that time.

“All right, so we have _Oblivion_ and _Loss of Soul Ownership_ in the cons… and _Revenge_ and _My Very Own Butler_ in the pros. It’s even.”

She stared at the list and frowned.

“What is it, my dear?”

“I’m going to cancel out the loss of soul thing with the getting revenge thing.”

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t you cancel oblivion with revenge? For that _is_ the contract, at it’s heart.”

She nodded with finality. “No! Those aren’t even at all. I told you, oblivion is… Well. Oblivion is way bigger than that. Besides, it’s not like you’d be destroying my soul, you’re just gonna _own_ it. Revenge makes for a fair exchange. And if you’re promising to kill me gently, it stands to reason that you’ll probably _own_ me gently too.”

I had to fight to keep from looking shocked. She was already able to see through me, if only just a little bit. So like my young master…

“Yes. That is true.”

“And you don’t lie.”

“I do not, nor will I ever.”

“Okay then,” she sighed, scratching one clean line through each.

She grew silent.

“Say what are you left with, then.”

“My very own Butler… handsome, talented, loyal, efficient… who has suggested that any and all extras would be freely included,” she said slyly, eyeing me from under dark lashes. She had leapt over some of her shyness in the most adorable fashion. I bit down on my tongue as I felt my considerable human genitalia harden slightly.

No, I am not exaggerating. I do not do that either.

To be here, to engage in contracts with humans, I have to fashion the human body I’ll reside in myself. Making that body _appealing_ is an obvious advantage. So ask yourself, if I expend such effort to make myself a beautiful male, do you think I’d make the mistake of giving myself a tiny prick?

In any case, now was not the time.

“Versus… Oblivion.”

She stared at me for a time. I could do no more than stare back.

She shook her head, and gave me a sad, resigned look.

“As appealing as your being my butler is…” She smiled shyly, face reddening again. Clearly she was thinking about the juicier fringe benefits of that arrangement. I knew I was.

“I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t stack up to the thought of oblivion. I mean, floating through nothingness while being aware of it? That’s horrifying, Alex.”

Smart girl. “So the answer is no?”

“I’m afraid it has to be.”

I sighed and nodded. I felt disappointed, but obviously she was not stupid. Although… I wished I could give her a sample, just to see if that would turn her.

Oh, I’d turn her. And I’d flip her, and stroke her, and kiss her and plunge into her…

She smiled again, sweet and genuine and such a wonderful prize. Gilda stood up then, prompting me to stand quickly. The barbarians looked at us, probably trying to figure out why I had risen if I wasn’t leaving myself, as well. _Plebeians_.

She crossed the wide strap of her bag over her neck and shoulder, swinging the canvas sack to her opposite hip. Clasping the notebook to her breast, she stuck out her hand for a shake.

“Best of luck, Alexander. Promise me you’ll never go off your meds, okay?”

I didn’t quite understand that.

Taking her hand, I turned it gently and kissed it. While my gloves were still in place, my lips had touched her skin, and skin contact meant I could feel what she felt.

I had surprised her. There was a rush of air when she gasped quietly, then some small tremors as she giggled quietly and her blood quickened. All over.

She tasted so very nice.

“My dear,” I said, looking up slyly at her blushing face. I was extremely tempted to flash my bright reptile eyes at her (I had a feeling she’d find them pretty), but I restrained myself. I turned her hand over and kissed the palm this time, one last sweet kiss, then released her. Standing up, I bowed slightly, and I put my hand to my chest over the black button down shirt. “Should you change your mind, promise me that you absolutely _will not_ accept a contract from a demon other than myself.”

I shuddered to think what _they_ would do to one so precious.

“I absolutely promise,” she said, laughing lightly. The hand I had tasted was tucked against her chest, curled into a little fist, as though protecting the memory of a stranger’s sweet kisses.

Really, it was too bad. Was I going soft? Had I not tried hard enough? I don’t know.

I probably would have taken my time with her and made the same tragic mistakes I made with Ciel, but still. It was a journey I would have gone on, no matter the odds.

I watched her walk away from me, selfishly hoping for a turn, a smile, a wave. And like a good Austen novel, Gilda did not disappoint.

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

+

 

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 2**

 

 

+

 

I have told you about demonic fast food, correct? And how I can no longer can stomach it, and haven't been able to for some time? I haven't really told you all of the reasons why, though. Well, it might interest you to know that I haven't had a decent meal in decades, which is one of the reasons I was so very intent upon striking a deal with the lovely Miss Gilda.

I have had exactly three meals since losing my young master. They were all successful contracts, and two of them were fairly tasty. Not mind-blowingly delicious, like Ciel or Gilda. But nutritious, filling and tasty. I suppose one of the reasons they were not of the highest caliber flavor was that while their demands in the contract were fairly honorable, they were also a bit single-minded. Too much of this silly 'an eye for an eye' ridiculousness, and not enough creative comeuppance.

I get ahead of myself.

Let me elaborate. As I said, I've had exactly three meals since losing Ciel. Do not judge me too harshly, I couldn't help it; I was hungry. They weren't fast food by any means, but they weren't a black-tie affair with all the courses, either.

By the way, speaking of black ties… I look simply juicy in a modern tuxedo. They are one of the better perks of the twentieth century.

Whoopsie, I'm off course again. Apologies. I cannot help it! I am in a gleeful mood. Do let me continue and you will see why.

 

+

 

In the year nineteen hundred and twelve on the Western calendar for the human civilization, I contracted with a French-speaking painter from Brussels named Louis DeBrena. He was _enormously_ talented and as poor as dust. Master Louis had belonged to circle of artists of various disciplines, most of them painters or writers. These little groups were all the rage over Europe, and due to that, competition in the art world was much fiercer than your history books would have you believe. Never mind all that _make love not war_ bullocks, these folks were ruthless while trying to get ahead. Well, as a rule. DeBrena was a genuinely nice man, which is probably why he got screwed in the first place. Thievery and back-stabbing were common place amongst some of the lesser-known circles, even murder was done.

It was done to Louis DeBrena. Or at least, it had been _attempted_.

DeBrena had dabbled in the occult – not as a practitioner, mind you, but he'd studied it. So in a state of delirium with a mortal stab wound to his stomach, he managed to summon me, and snap! We formed a contract. He wanted revenge on a fellow painter who had stolen not just his life, but his life's work from him.

His story is a sad one, but there are moments of light in it, too.

DeBrena was a homosexual, and was without a doubt the prettiest adult human male I have ever seen. Tall and slender, but well-built (for a man who did not eat regularly), with dark blond hair, coffee brown eyes, great teeth, creamy smooth skin and… Oh, that majestic backside. It was perfectly _clutchable_ , I tell you! I mention specifics here just to attempt a picture, but truly it wasn't so much his coloring, or his height or any _one_ thing… it was his entire being. He was well-balanced physically, yes, but also quite an adorable person.

He named me _Lawrence_. In front of others he said I was a distant relative visiting from England, because my being his butler didn't really appeal to his personal politics, which was Socialism. Oh, but Louis was terribly sweet… how nice it felt to lay him out before me like a platter of warm seafood bouchée before ravishing every inch of his delicious body. I placed the contract mark right on the small of his back. (I believe that when a human gets a tattoo in this same spot these days it is referred to as a 'cum shot'? Oh, you kids! Such clever vernacular!) Do believe me when I tell you that I practiced my aim on _that_ target with impunity. It still makes me hard just thinking about sad, sweet Louis.

Oh my, there I go again. I tend to reminisce on the more sentimental histories of my prey when I am in a good mood. Do forgive me.

Where was I? Oh. Oh yes.

Now, DeBrena was closeted, as so many of his fellow homosexuals were back then. Surprising, isn't it? You humans are not exactly an accepting society, even amongst the artistic.

His murderer, Jean Lamonte, was a miserable human being and, to put it bluntly, a dreadful artist. No vision, no fire under his backside, but lots of money in his family, and even more every time he sold a canvas to the plebian benefactors that surrounded him. They were the sort that wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a diamond and a piece of ice on a hot day, but if some artist suddenly became popular, then of course they were deemed talented as well. The unfortunate thing for Lamonte was that he _knew_ he was a hack, and he learned no matter how rich he was, or how well his paintings sold, his work still, and would always, _suck_.

He hated Louis, because while Louis was starving he still managed to paint beautiful, compelling works. So Lamonte decided to blackmail him. He convinced his own cousin to seduce and debase my poor Master Louis six ways from Sunday, then had the cousin turn around and gossip about it to the local paper – and everyone else who would listen for that matter, media whore that he was – about Louis' sexuality. Louis was promptly shunned.

Then Lamonte played savior, offering to buy every painting in Louis's disgustingly small, rat-infested flat, and for no more cash than could get him through a month. The bastard was a skinflint, as well as a liar, snob and murderer. In any case, Louis was too desperate to turn him down, so he took the cash.

Lamonte promptly painted over Louis' signature with his own and claimed the work. His popularity went through the roof. When Louis couldn't take it anymore, he confronted Lamonte, who laughed at him, then grabbed a large, dirty palette knife off a table and plunged it into Louis' belly.

Palette knives are rather dull, you know.

I gave Master Louis a new wardrobe, a new identity, and a fortune. He had the same body, the same face, but money does amazing things to other people's perceptions. No one ever compared _His Honor the Earl Victor Newsted_ (I called him 'Vickie' when I buggered him, it made him giggle like mad), to poor dead Louis DeBrena. He bought back all his paintings, and together we exposed Lamonte as the fraud and the murderer he was. That piece of scum was jailed and sentenced to death. Louis was now in a unique position; he had the opportunity to watch as his own paintings garnered accolades while he was still, technically, alive.

As a freebie for Louis, I goaded Lamonte into committing suicide before they could hang him. Ah, the good old days, before security alarms and jailhouse surveillance cameras. It was _fun_.

Well, you should know that even as I had become very attached to _Vickie_ and the delightful things we did to each other in his feather bed, fulfilling his contract still came relatively easy to me. As I said, he was not fast food… but neither was he filet mignon.

I consumed him when the contract was fulfilled, and my sweet Louis went without a fight. He was content with his reward and smart enough to simply submit to my will. As he floated through the silence of oblivion, he seemed at peace. I fed on him, as is my right, and I bled his soul dry until it was a husk.

Despite my complete and total disclosure about what it means to contract with me, you humans still accept the terms. You will _wither_ inside me. And the weaker your imagination, the faster all the black nothingness will rot your mind like compost.

You didn't know that, did you? Have I frightened you? Honestly, I cannot fathom why you are so surprised. I may be utterly charming, but at the end of the day I am still a _demon_ … remember?

Even the most delicious souls decay. I will say this though; they last a hell of a lot longer. I cannot even imagine how long I would have tasted Ciel within me until he faded. _He_ might not have _ever_ faded, not completely. Had I consumed Ciel as originally planned, I might not have ever needed to feed again. I cannot even imagine that – what it would feel like to be free from hunger?

 

+

 

The next soul was an American woman named Linda Smith. Miss Linda was a boring middle class secretary who would have been a full-fledged accountant were it not for two things, World War II and the Old Boy's Club.

Linda had a penchant for charity and a mind for numbers. She could have easily been an investment banker or a money launderer. But, men were going off to war so the women were asked to rivet planes together, pass out donuts, work for the military. The cultural timing was atrocious and any career she may have had was doomed because of it.

Due to her skill set, however, she managed to work her way up the secretarial chain in the Army's War Finance Division, and wound up as the personal secretary to a rather assertive Colonel. One that assertively raped her after only a few months in his employ.

Linda, who never had any interest in marriage, now found herself single and pregnant in a society that simply did not accept such things. She had very little income set aside to begin with, but when the good Colonel discovered she was carrying his baby, he dismissed her as a whore and fired her on the spot. Left with no choice, she went to a seedy doctor for an abortion, and the procedure nearly killed her. She was terrified, that's to be expected, but she was incredibly angry as well. Her soul demanded revenge in its darkest hour, and snap! I came to her side, presented my terms and she accepted them. The mark was placed behind her left ear and neatly covered up with her hairstyle. Strong, yet practical… just like Linda.

Sometimes, I wonder if the quality of the life that had been led before is what ends up being the strongest catalyst in contract making. That can't be said of Ciel, of course, but think about that one… Would a human with even a passably decent life really, _truly_ want to have her soul up and devoured? Linda Smith's life had been one long remarkable disappointment, as had Louis DeBrena's, and mostly because they were painfully aware of their potential only to have circumstances choke the life out of it. They were rendered impotent, but they _still knew_ they had what it takes to be a success. I find that idea maddening. By the time I entered their lives, they probably felt as though they weren't gambling with anything significant with regard to their souls, and just said _yes, I'll do it._ It's a sobering thought. Heartbreaking even, but I think that's the reason.

There was no sexual activity with Linda. She simply wasn't interested. In many ways, that made her one of my most difficult marks, because with the absence of a physical attraction to me comes more work to get my clients to do what _I_ want them to do. Louis was easy in that regard – I'd put my lips to his ear and my hands to his cock, and he'd agree to whatever I suggested – all in the name of fulfilling our contract, of course. But with Linda, I had to learn a new tack.

After the obligatory fortune and new identity, Miss Linda gave me the role of her 'personal assistant', citing that "no one is going to believe that a single gal from the Midwest has a _butler_ , Diddums."

She named me _Diddums_. I didn't mind. She had cats.

Linda made me drive her around so she could perform charitable acts until her contract was fulfilled. It was kind of rewarding in its own way, bashing about in a nice car and throwing money at sick orphans and wounded veterans. They smiled at me. They _thanked_ me. I began to enjoy it.

But at some point in her service I realized what she was turning me into – through no fault of her own, incidentally, because Miss Linda really was that generous a person – so I knew I had to tie that one up before I started wearing her skirts and kissing flowers.

We destroyed the Colonel's good name. Like Jean Lamonte before him, the Colonel also went to prison. Per Linda's terms, I hogtied him, raped the shit out him, and left him crying on the floor of his filthy cell.

I told you, when it comes down to it, there's all that _an eye for an eye_ philosophy with you humans. She was a bit put out when it was finally over. She never cared for the fake celebrity that came with our Rainbow Tour, but she was thrilled with the charity part. Eventually I appealed to her sense of fair play and once she admitted that a deal is a deal, she sat still for me as I took her in. Her soul lasted longer than Louis DeBrena's, but still, it was not long enough.

 

+

 

In nineteen sixty-seven, my tummy began to grumble again, and so I started searching through the files, hoping against hope that I'd find another Ciel. They had been decent enough prey but I really didn't want to eat another Louis or Linda.

I stumbled across a suicide risk, a fourteen-year-old boy named Tomas Solomon who wanted to be a writer. He was the only child of a Jewish father and a Spanish mother. They were disgustingly wealthy, horrible materialistic and permanently annoyed by the needs of a child. You know what it is I refer to, silly human needs – like food, security and affection.

Honestly, _why_ do some of you make children if you aren't planning on enjoying them?

As a result of their indifference they shipped their son off to an exclusive all-boys prep school in Switzerland where the sensitive young man was bullied on a daily basis. Tommy attempted suicide, and snap! Contract, mark, buttling, revenge.

All he wanted me to do was bully the boys who had bullied him, and he gave me carte blanche on that. I was not gentle. Tommy watched while I obtained his revenge, but he was so apathetic about his own dreadful existence he couldn't even manage a modicum of satisfaction.

I should have known better, _really_ I should. Tommy had named me _John_.

YAWN.

His soul didn't even last a decade inside me. I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to do another one, ever again, even if it meant I starved to death, not unless it was a damnable _feast_. And that is why I was so upset with myself for not trying harder with Miss Gilda.

 

+

 

This is where my tale catches up to the present. I was very bored… leaning back in my creaky heat-resistant office chair, _daring_ it to collapse under me… knowing full well it would be years, possibly several decades, before the file of another worthy soul crossed my desk.

Which is why I was shocked and thoroughly _delighted_ to hear the weakened but determined voice of one Miss Gilda Franks softly crying a name over and over.

Alexander, she was saying. Alexander, Alexander…

Despite the extreme need for haste, and my prey's obvious physical pain, I grinned. No further encouragement necessary, I popped out of existence in my world and into yours, concentrating hard so as to locate Gilda's soon-to-be-corpse as quickly as possible.

 _Alexander_. It is not my true name, mind you. A human isn't even physically able to pronounce that… but Alexander is a lovely name. Made even lovelier by the quiet, needy desperation in Gilda's melodic voice. It got weaker and quieter each time the little minx managed to say it, but that didn't matter one bit. This was something only I was meant to hear, and it was as loud and as clear as if she had been screaming it out in ecstasy, her pretty pink lips less than an inch from my pointy ear.

The lovely Miss Gilda, now at the ripe old age of twenty, was fading quickly due to blunt force trauma to her rib cage. Having learned that very difficult lesson with Ciel's untimely death, I hurried to her side before it was truly too late, and – yes indeed, _snap!_ – I got to her on time.

I know it's inappropriate behavior for a butler… but, I have snatched the golden ring. I won the lottery. I'm downright _giddy!_

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
>  
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++
> 
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

+

 

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 3**

 

 

+

 

 

“Hello, _Mistress_ ,” I purred.

I had to keep reminding myself to keep my gleefulness in check, but it was very, very difficult.

Gilda was still in the hospital; my magic ability to heal her only going so far enough to secure she was alive and healthy enough fulfill the contract. She was still quite damaged, but it was no longer immediately life threatening. The ‘blunt force trauma’ to her chest would have been the cause of her death. But the moment I got to her I learned there was much more. I had to act quickly to mark her for the contract or I could not alleviate at least some of her intense pain, let alone save her for dinner. I was going to lose her.

It turns out my worries were unfounded because it only took her point-seven-five seconds to agree.

I will admit that I had broken the rules _ever_ so slightly when I approached her three years ago. Without an impending death and a formal request for demonic help, we can do nothing to change people’s lives. But, as I said, I peruse the files. I sift through mountains of paperwork to find the potential Ciel-like souls. After the disaster with Tomas Solomon, I decided I also needed to _meet_ them first. I needed to get close enough to know if my suspicions were accurate, to smell them, to learn their mindset, to test their blood. When I realized I had hit the jackpot with Gilda Franks, the only thing I could do to help my cause at that point was to make a memorable first impression (and obviously I did) and leave her with a suggestion that would, hopefully, linger on in her beautiful brain. Should the right circumstances ever present themselves, my chances would be quite a bit better than if we had never before spoken.

_“… promise me that you absolutely **will not** accept a contract from a demon other than myself.”_

Ah, seduction. It works like a charm.

As she looked up at me, angry and broken, she asked for three things; _One_ , that I buttle for her, as discussed that day at the café, so that she could complete her studies at the music conservatory she was still struggling to attend; _two_ , that I, in the mean time, secure her revenge, which was to destroy her father’s multi-billion dollar corporation and leave him penniless; and _three,_ after consuming her soul, I was to carry out the instructions in her last will and testament to the letter.

I’d never before been asked to do something that would complete the contract _after_ eating the mark’s actual soul, but then life is full of surprises, isn’t it? Technically, I could agree to her terms and never bother with fulfilling that part – the very nature of the pact I make with humans ensures that the contract is completed once I consume them. I could go on my merry way and not bat a single long, silky eyelash at her last wishes.

However… that would not be honorable at all. If I could not perform such a simple thing, what kind of a butler would I be? In any case, it was what she asked for and it’s well within my power to grant such a wish, so I agreed.

That last two parts sounded easy. Honestly, the _buttling_ part was going to be harder than the actual revenge, but I’m looking forward to it! I can hardly wait to see the blinding glare of sterling cutlery, smell the starch of crisp table linens and feel the weight of a polished brass door handle in my palm as I greet the many and varied visitors who have the nerve call on my new Mistress, and then rip them apart. Should she order me to do so.

To continue, after we made our agreement, Gilda’s fatal chest trauma became broken ribs. The rape I could do nothing for, but her broken jaw was now a severely split lip, and a bone break in her left thigh was badly strained quadriceps and hamstrings. All painful, but quite manageable.

Now, the broken ribs meant that I could not seduce and have sex with her for some time. That was a disadvantage for me but I’d get by. The lip was worse. It would be close to a month’s time before I could even steal a proper kiss. Aside from the obvious power that I wield over my prey when I care to get affectionate with them, well… I _like_ kissing, you see. So very tasty.

The leg muscles were a different situation, however, and one that I was looking _forward_ to dealing with. She would be bed-ridden for a spell, and therefore at my mercy. I now had the opportunity to treat her like a queen, thereby ensuring she understood just how loyal I can, and _will_ be, and as a result she will adore me. Furthermore, I know she will thoroughly enjoy it when I apply liniments and oils to her thigh and perform deep tissue massaging on it during her in-home physical therapy. I’m thrilled that particular injury was to her leg and not her arm or hand – for one thing, she is a pianist, and for another, the massaging the thigh gets me closer to the panties, which just may have to be removed lest they get stained.

With the liniment, that is.

I _told_ you I was gleeful.

Her attack was nothing more than misfortune on her part. Poor Miss Gilda had simply found herself defenseless and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Granted, I enjoy seeing my prey suffer sometimes… All right, that isn’t exactly honest. I should say I enjoy watching them, on occasion, _struggle_. For instance, the way Master Ciel struggled with being treated like a child while he performed the work of an adult. It made me giggle on occasion as it often led to him losing his temper, and that was just so very cute to witness.

However, even _I_ have my limits as to how much of that sort of thing I can witness. Even after saving Gilda from death by partially curing her injuries, seeing her in such pain was unbearable, so I conceded to take the poor young woman to a hospital and I allowed human doctors to work their own brand of magic.

I do not like hospitals. The smell is nauseating; I do not know what is worse about it, the sharpness of the chemicals and medicines or the putrid rank of disease and bodily death. I was not going to be able to stay by her side with that smell crawling up my nose for too long given how agitated I was on top of everything else.

Why was I agitated? Well…

After having thoroughly sniffed Miss Gilda in places that would have made her blush had she been awake to experience it, I had her attacker’s scent. I got her to the emergency room of the nearest hospital and ensured she was in good hands, and then left to locate her attacker and proceeded to scare him to death. _Literally_.

No, it wasn’t part of our contract… So, _yes_ , I broke another rule. I was simply too angry to control myself that someone, _anyone_ , demon or otherwise, had sullied my precious prize. After all, it had taken me ages to find her, and, more importantly, sullying Gilda was now _my_ job.

Now, to be very clear: yes, I slowly turned her attacker into a steaming pile of inside-out goo, and I said that it was her bad luck that he’d hurt her in the first place. But to be honest… Oh, dear. I really shouldn’t say. But truthfully I should have _thanked_ the lad! The brutal rape was unnecessary in my opinion – I mean _really_ , you humans, you can be so very vile – but the fact of the matter is it was my good fortune that he had beaten her to what would have been her death. Not that I’ll ever admit that to Gilda. If she knew I actually felt that way I’d _never_ be able to remove her panties, and that’d be bad for business.

So, after killing the _nut-job,_ I returned to her side and endured the smells. It wasn’t so bad as long as I stayed in her private room and concentrated on her scent. It was still off, but I would certainly fix that.

Can you imagine my surprise when that wretched Undertaker showed up – and as a modern county coroner no less? He was disappointed that Gilda had no work for him because of my “filthy demonic interference”. He’d giggled as he’d said it – I ask you, what in the bloody hell is _wrong_ with him? I wanted him gone, so I politely told him to sod off, and that Gilda was mine, thank you very much, and it would be a very long time before she was in need of _his_ services.

Then _he_ politely reminded _me_ that dragging my heels with the Earl of Phantomhive was precisely what led me to losing him in the first place. I glared at his back when he finally left. Faugh! The _Undertaker_ , I tell you. That lab coat-wearing ID-badged freak of nature, defecating in my hard-won basket of glee.

And now, thanks to mister Nosy Parker, it was only a matter of time before Grell Sutcliffe overheard the news that I had a fresh mark on a rare, delicious soul, and the flaming red tornado would return, trying to steal my prize and stuff his face down my trousers.

 

+

 

It was now several hours later and Gilda was finally awake, and I felt a strange sense of relief to see her open her eyes. My mistress, _my_ _delicious_ _meal_ , was safe.

“Alex…?” She tried to focus on me as her voice broke with lack of use and dehydration. Gently, I pressed a glass of cool water to her lips and she drank. I watched her throat as she swallowed greedily, beautiful tendons and muscles working and convulsing together, alive, _mine,_ and once again I suppressed a giggle as I couldn’t believe my luck.

She noticed my smile and frowned up at me when she pushed the glass away, indicating she’d had enough.

“Why are you so happy?”

“I am happy to see you again, Miss Gilda Franks. I am relieved you are alive. I am _ecstatic_ that you thought to call for me in your hour of need.” I sat next to her on the hospital bed, brushing the hair from forehead. Humans like that.

“Oh. Okay. So all those black feathers… The glowing eyes and the forked tail, those _heels_ … You mean to tell me that shit _wasn’t_ a dream where I was idealizing Dr. Frank-N-Furter?”

I had no knowledge of this physician she referred to, but I pressed on. “Well, no, it wasn’t.” She raised her eyebrows. I needed to defuse the situation quickly, lest Gilda’s substantially secular thoughts go off on a tangent about God and demons and the afterlife and all that rot. Hopefully, she’d just accept the situation so that we could move forward.

“That was my true form, yes. The tail is a new addition, as it happens! I’ve only just let it grow. Tell me, did you like it? Was it too much black? Was it _me?_ ”

She took a breath, eyeing me speculatively. “You really _are_ a demon, then?”

Ah, good. She’s on board. And with all the extras as well, no doubt.

“Yes, Mistress. Do you believe me now?”

Gilda reached down to where her contract mark danced a perfect circle around her navel under the atrocious hospital gown.

_Well at the least she remembers our little talk in the alley._

“It still tingles,” she whispered up at me, rubbing her stomach through the thin fabric.

Gods above and below, who on earth still thinks that _mauve_ is a good color for clothing? I simply couldn’t wait to get that rag off of my mistress and start dressing her precious body in all the designer clothing I had yet to buy! So much to do! So much preparation!

Yes, we are tamping the glee down. _Again._

“I’m afraid it will tingle for some time my dear. It will never fully stop being sensitive until our business with each other is done, but it _will_ lessen.” I frowned, then added, “It… it doesn’t _hurt_ , does it?”

“No,” she croaked, then added miserably, “And it’s the only part of me that _doesn’t_.”

I smiled, placing my gloved hand over hers, feeling the fresh bond of the contract mark vibrating quietly underneath, right though the flesh, blood and bones of her talented hand. I rubbed tiny circles on her knuckles with my thumb, cooing, “There, there…” She whimpered some, then cried a little. I was positive it was not because of me.

I let her have her little moment of weakness. She was after all, still in a great deal of pain and hadn’t even begun to deal with the emotional trauma of what had happened to her. I knew she remembered our deal making, but I was not sure how much of the actual attack she remembered, or even if she knew she had been raped.

Perhaps now was not the time. She’d find out, or be told, or remember, all soon enough. And when that happens, I’ll be right by her side, supporting her, just like now.

When she was done with her crying jag, I wiped her pretty face clean with a soft, wet cloth – having to refrain from using my tongue instead. I shall remind you one last time; One hell of a butler… and a _demon._

It was time to start wheedling my way into her heart. “By the way, Miss Gilda, does your forehead hurt?” She eyed me again, obviously still trying to work me out.

“No… it’s fine. Why?”

I smiled at her, and leaned in close. Her eyes widened in apprehension slightly, but her smell did not reek of fear. “So that I can do this,” I said quietly, and kissed her forehead.

Oh… _there it was_. Hiding under all the acrid medicines running through her blood and the antiseptic smell that had settled on her skin. Pure Essence of Gilda Franks. It rose up then, growing stronger with my flirtatious affection and permeated my senses through my slightly open mouth – a mouth that refused to leave her skin. I found myself wanting to take a very large bite, but I pulled away before I lost all control, smirking and licking my lips.

She looked up at me, blushing – _Oh! how I have **missed** thee, magenta_ – and very confused. I wasn’t about to explain myself. “I need to have a discussion with your doctor. We need to get you home as soon as possible so that I can nurse you back to health and get your normal activities back on their proper track.”

“Don’t I have to see a police officer… make a statement or something?”

“There isn’t really a need for that. I can tell them that you don’t want to make one and that all you want is for your butler to take you home. Miss Gilda, your attacker had fled the scene before I got to you… _and_ , he will never be found now anyway.” I tilted my head at her and decided to test her strength. You may think it cruel of me, but I do hate waiting. “Having them run a – what did they call it? A _rape kit?_ Doing that is entirely your decision, but I can tell you that since he is no longer alive to be jailed, it will only result in more pain for you.”

“Oh…” she muttered, looking down. Whether it was mixed emotions at the knowledge that I had already killed for her, or confirmation that she had indeed been violated sexually, I could not be sure. More than likely it was both. In any case, there were no more tears and I was very proud of my new Mistress for that.

 

+

 

“ _This_ is where you live?” I asked, disgusted.

Two days went by with Gilda confined to the hospital for ‘observation’. I probably could have left her there to start making arrangements for her fabulous new life, but after the encounter with the Undertaker, I simply did not trust to leave her alone. _Oh well,_ more buttling for me!

While Gilda slept and gained some strength, I asked after her physician – the one with the unfortunate name like breakfast meat. Oddly enough, the nurses gave me some very displeased looks and I never did locate him. I was finally able to corner the presiding physician and convinced him to release Gilda, so I could take her home. I decided to start with what she had, and go from there. Little did I know that she had so very… _little_.

I’d hired a cab to drive us to her place of residence. I got her out of the cab easily enough. She put her arms around my neck as I picked her up, and I noted that she smelled so much more like herself, which did wonders for my mood. She also did not seem to have any apprehension at all about me touching her, or her touching me in kind. This was a plus. Gently, I put her into the wheel chair, and then pushed her into the building. We took the elevator to her tiny fifth-floor apartment.

Her living situation was a disaster. This wasn’t going to work, and I could remedy it easily enough, but I had to be careful about how I approached it, how I approached _Gilda_ , specifically.

Ciel had been an ingrate at first, citing that the sheer unbelievable nature of me snapping my fingers and him suddenly having a completely restored estate was _too suspicious_ and would simply _raise too many questions._ I remember how angry he had made me. Now, I do confess I was expecting nothing less of Ciel to get down on his knees and suckle me – what do you call it? A blowjob? Yes, I think that’s right. Nut-job, blowjob, oh you humans are _so_ clever. In any case I expected one as thanks. Obviously that did not happen, but I was, at least, hoping for the words ‘excellent work, Sebastian’ to come out of his pretty little mouth. Instead I was practically slapped in the face.

It got much worse before it got only marginally better… As his butler, I had to learn how to make delicious human food, not simply handle and prepare the raw ingredients until they looked pretty. I had to learn that the temperature of water that was acceptable for a human bath and a pot of tea were _not_ the same – _that_ made for an interesting evening!

I wasn’t alone in my naiveté. Ciel had to yet to grasp basic manners, let alone the propriety that his position as Earl of Phantomhive required.It had been very difficult for both my master and myself, but we did, eventually, work things out. Now that I know better, now that I already know exactly how to perform the duties of one hell of a butler, I wanted to use that knowledge to avoid any such conflicts with Gilda. But how far she would go in letting me fix things quickly, I did not yet know.

“ _Yeah_ , Alex, this is where I live… I may be a musical prodigy but I’m still poorer n’ _shit_ , remember?” There was a note of irritation to her voice.

I reminded myself to tread _carefully_. I decided to try appealing to her through something I already knew about her, that I could use against her… that deep sense of justice.

“You deserve much better than this filthy hole, Mistress. And I can give that to you, if you will allow it.”

“How?” she asked as I picked her up out of the wheelchair and set her down on her used, dirty couch. Her voice sounded incredulous, just like it had been at the café three yeas ago, but now it was laced with a bitterness as well. The sort of vitriol that can only be forged by hard knocks. I didn’t want that bitterness to go any further than it already had.

I glanced down at the used coffee table in front of the couch. There before me was a long piece of canvas, with thick, shiny paint decorating it in a distinct pattern. When it dawned on me that the strip of canvas was a perfect match to the keys of a piano, I knew how bad off she really was financially. She didn’t even have a piano to practice on at home… she had been sitting on the carpet in front of the coffee table, writing her symphony and striking imaginary keys… hearing the music only in her head. Like Beethoven.

I simply _had_ to upgrade her living arrangements.

Getting down on my knees, I looked in her eyes and took her hands in mine.

“You need to concentrate on your studies in order to fulfill one part of our contract – completing your studies, yes? And _I_ need to create an environment where you can do just that – so that _you_ will not worry about _my_ end of the contract. Also, for me to do my part, I simply need more resources than what you have here.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let me go out for the night. I will find what I need and come get you in the morning. In the meantime, pack whatever you wish to take with us.” I sneered as I said it, looking around the room. There couldn’t possible _be_ anything in the apartment she’d miss.

“You aren’t going to kill anyone in the process.”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“That wasn’t a question, Alex.”

I smirked at her. “Oh, yes. I see. Miss Gilda, I’m afraid that when you give orders, they will have to be indentified as such.”

She paused, looking snide. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I don’t do that – well, _much_ of that, either. I guarantee you will know when I am kidding. And teasing. And flirting.” I smiled sweetly. Gilda sighed.

“All right. In procuring what you need to perform your duties as my butler and to fulfill our contract, I _order_ you,” and here she rolled her eyes and it was _so_ terribly fetching, “not to kill anyone or anything in the process.”

I winced.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, what _now?!”_

“I’m afraid I probably _will_ have to exterminate insects or vermin. And that would be killing a ‘thing’, as you put it.”

“Bugs. I am perfectly okay with you killing any and all bugs. And skunks. And rats. Mice, not so much, they are kind of cute, but if you gotta, okay. Bats, snakes, yes… as long as they are _not_ endangered.”

I didn’t know she was such an environmentalist. What a nuisance.

“Anything else, Mistress?”

She glanced up at me, biting the inside of her cheek. Good Lord, she was pouting.

“Mistress?”

“Bunnies,” she finally admitted. “I like bunnies. Don’t kill any bunnies. Or deer. Or doggies. Or foxes. Or – ooh! Or stray cats! Kill no cats! Got it?”

Cats.

_She liked cats._

Mmmmm…

 

+

 

“Holy crap.”

I lifted Gilda out of the back seat of her limo, and helped her stand to take a good look at her new property. I cradled her waist in one arm to support her, and I was grateful that she leaned right into my side, no hesitation at being close. That was a good sign.

“This… this is where you _live?”_

“It is _your_ residence _,_ Mistress,” I corrected gently. “All yours.”

She looked the pristine brick manor up and down, perhaps not yet believing it was her home. “Huh. I had no idea they tore down the old Wrigley place and built a new house over it. How can you afford this?”

“I didn’t have to. They didn’t build it. This estate and the grounds it is on have been up for sale for decades. They were selling it as is, and it was inexpensive, considering. After I found the property, I...”

Oh dear. How _was_ I going to put this? I didn’t kill anyone, just as I had promised her. Still…

“Well, Miss Gilda, shall we say… I simply _convinced_ the real estate agent that you had already purchased it, and I had the paperwork secured from him within three-quarters of an hour. Then I returned here, and restored the manor and grounds last night as you slumbered.”

“You…” She glanced over at me, looking slightly worried. Oh, dear. I hoped she wasn’t going to berate me like Ciel did. What a bad start that would be. “No one got hurt, right?”

“Not a single, solitary scratch on him. You have my word,” I said, placing my free hand over my black heart. Oh, this new age and all its laws! Killing people to get what I wanted was not so easy anymore. It was going to be damn tricky to work around, but I _would_ find my way.

In any case, it was the truth, I never touched that real estate agent. The man’s psyche, however, won’t be recovering so soon. Gilda needn’t know that. The poor dear had enough to concern herself with for now. Like getting healthy, so that… Oh, how had she put it when we first met three year ago? _Fuck me silly for free?_ I believe that was what she had written on her charming little list of pros and cons. So many succulent things to look forward to…

“You _made_ this? How?”

I smiled down at her sympathetically. She needed a hot breakfast, a bath, and a bed to begin recuperating in. But first I needed to give her a treat, something to make her see that these little talents of mine were hers to use as she saw fit, right up until the moment I ate her soul. Something that would _endear_ me to her. Something personal.

“What sort of tree is your favorite, Miss Gilda?”

“Um… what?”

“What is your favorite tree? It’s a simple question.”

“All right, all right. I like Japanese maples the best.”

I snapped my gloved fingers, and poof! The long, paved drive was artfully lined on either side with countless varieties of mature, beautifully cultivated Japanese Maples, starting at the yard in front of the manor, all the way down to the security gate at the road. There were Dwarf Variegated Butterflies, Green Cascades, and Red Filigree Lace just to name a few… but my personal favorite, for obvious reasons, was the _Bloodgood._

Her new trees stood their ground as though they had been there for several decades. It was mid-September and the foliage was just starting to turn. The morning sun beat down on us from a clear blue sky, and everywhere you looked you saw brilliant hues of maroon, wine, pink, red, orange, gold…

These were only trees. If I was lucky, her taste in everything else was just as good. And I must admit… my handiwork, when not being _criticized_ by a bratty, precocious young man, could be spectacular. I certainly hoped my new mistress was going to let me have the run of the place in that regard.

Gilda had fallen quiet and I looked down at her. Eyes-wide as she stared at her beautiful new trees, she was making that ‘o’ again with her no-doubt delicious mouth. My thoughts turned indecent for a moment – honestly, how _could_ I help myself? – then I got back on track. There was, after all, so much to do!

She elicited a small, adorable squeak as I picked her up in my arms and headed to the front door. “Um… are you actually carrying me over the threshold, Alexander?” She said, giggling as we entered her new home. “Isn’t that, like, what honeymooners do?”

_Finally_. Something I could work with.

“If you say so, my dear Mistress.”

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

  
+

 

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 4**

 

 

+

 

“Mistress… What on _earth_ are you doing?”

Our first night in the manor had gone relatively well. I gave her some of the pain killing medicine prescribed by her doctor at the hospital, and I dare say she was too far gone under their influence to protest, much less be _aware_ of, what I was doing when I gave her a sponge bath on her new bed. I had her dressed in a new pair of silk pajamas and under the covers fast asleep by seven p.m., which was helpful to me as I continued setting up her new home throughout the night. Gilda stayed quiet most of the night, whimpering only once or twice. I checked on her immediately, but she was sleeping soundly each time.

Now, at six o’clock in the morning the following day, I entered the kitchen to discover that she had somehow gotten herself out of bed, hobbled downstairs on her bad leg, and had been poking around in the cupboards.

By the way, I’d _heard_ her, of course. Don’t get all up in arms, I wouldn’t have let her fall down the stairs! After all, if she dies now before I can extract and consume her soul, she goes straight to Hell. More to the point, _I go hungry._ Can’t have that, now can we? Heh.

“Um… I’m making a pot of coffee?”

Detestable drink. I _despise_ coffee. I only stocked the damnable stuff because, well… it was _America._ You people wouldn’t know a decent cup of tea if it stood up, sang _Rule Britannia,_ and leapt down your throat.

She’d managed to get a container of Arabica beans down from the top of a cupboard on her own with the help of a stool, though I know not how she did so without falling down and hurting herself further. She would have gotten as far as brewing the black sludge had she not dropped the machine’s carafe and broken it. There was shattered glass all over the kitchen floor. There she stood, leaning up against the counter, gripping the edge and frozen in place in her bare feet.

It was going to be a long haul.

In any case, since I knew there were some things she was going to have to get used to, I decided to use this little moment as an excuse to teach her a thing or two.

“You most certainly are _not,”_ I snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly as I saw her wince. I strode over to her, my perfectly polished black Italian leather shoes crunching bits of glass beneath them as I went. Without another word, I picked her up in my arms and we left the kitchen.

“I don’t know what I am more upset with your for, trying to get out of bed and come downstairs on your own with your injuries still an issue, or nearly cutting the bottoms of your feet to shreds while doing a task that is _my_ responsibility!” I said with venom.

 _Honestly_ , did she not have a single concept of what it meant to have a butler?

Gilda remained quiet, holding on to me tightly and staring at my face as I continued my lecture, all the way up the stairs and into her bedroom. She was in a t-shirt and ‘blue jean’ shorts, so she’d managed to dress herself before coming down – if you consider that sort of thing ‘clothing’. I know _I_ don’t.

Her bed was still turned down, because of course she hadn’t made it, so I slipped her right back into it. “Take off those deplorable things immediately. That cannot be comfortable clothing for bed.” Ducking her head from my cold gaze, she unzipped her shorts and began to pull them off. She was moving very slow, and it wasn’t just because her leg and ribs still hurt.

She didn’t want to undress in front of me.

Oh, we had so much work in front of us. Exasperated, I leaned over and brushed her hands away. She stiffened up for a moment as I gently began to pull the ugly garment from her person with much more efficiency. I decided to ignore her apprehension about what I was doing, and continued to let her know how things were going to go.

“You need only say my name – the name _you_ have given me, may I remind you. What did you think that was for? I will hear it, Miss Gilda, no matter how far away I am, and I will come to your side.” Leaving her in her t-shirt and panties, I pulled the covers back up over her. “Whether I am down the hall, or on the other side of the planet, I will hear it. I will _come_. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“You need but give me an order, and I will do your bidding. Do you understand?”

Again, she nodded.

I stood up straight with my fists on my hips, satisfied that she would stay put.

“Making coffee is not your responsibility, it is _mine_ , Mistress. In fact, _all_ the menial tasks in your life are _my_ responsibility, as well as most of the major ones. I am to _buttle_ for you. You do not need to manage your household, _I do_. You do not cook, do laundry, drive, or clean. You do not worry about your revenge concerning your father’s investment firm. Your only responsibilities are to yourself – playing and writing your music, completing your studies, enjoying your status. Are we clear on that?”

She paused, looking at me with wide eyes, then finally, nodded once again.

I think I may have frightened her a little bit. It was just as well!

I came back up to her room some time later and found she hadn’t tried to exit the bed again, which I was thankful for. I brought her a cup of coffee – _disgusting, sacrilegious beverage –_ and a breakfast of fresh melon and citrus, whole wheat toast and a poached egg, all of which was politely organized with her utensils and a linen napkin on a polished silver tray, with the morning paper on the side.

It was a thing of beauty, my first real act of service in several years and I’d lost none of my talent… and _she_ looked at all of it as though she’d never seen breakfast before in her life.

_Bother._

I’d hoped that my little lecture would have been sufficient to help her understand my place in her new home… and _hers._

I wasn’t even close.

Gilda, it turned out, was proving to have some difficulty with the way I wanted to handle things.

She also wasn’t as easy a mark where sex was concerned now that we were living under the same roof. Perhaps it was because she was three years older than when I’d first met her – what a thrush she had been back then! Young, melodic, vibrant. I knew _that_ Gilda was still in there. It would become my personal mission to make her whole again. Make her happy and fulfilled.

Tasty.

Yes, yes. I am sure that you know my priorities in securing Gilda’s contentedness have a hidden agenda – a desired outcome that only I see the benefits in. We’ve been over this; I will not apologize for my demonic nature.

Keep in mind that I realized her recent rape was playing a part in her reluctance to get closer to me. But there were moments when she was downright uncooperative, and I believe that has more to do with her age and the struggles she had encountered in her life, the bitterness that I had mentioned earlier, than how she was violated. Now she truly was reminding me of Ciel. As with my former Master, I wanted very much to put her in her place – but Gilda was _not_ a twelve-year-old boy.

No matter how angry she made me on occasion, I could not simply take her by the throat and insist that she see things my way. For one thing, that would have been unmannerly, but for another… Well, Gilda was an adult now. She had her own expectations out of her daily life. I soon began to realize that I would need to submit to her will in some areas of our day-to-day existences in order for me to succeed.

I was prepared to do that, of course… but little did I know just how _much_ of it I was going to have to do.

 

+

 

From the first moment she’d laid eyes on the new piano I’d gotten her, she wanted to get down from my arms and play something.

Aside from that lavish, brand new bed in her upstairs bedroom, the piano was the only other piece of furniture I had personally purchased the same morning I had brought her home. Those two pieces were the only ones I absolutely had to have in place before I brought her into her new home.

The piano would hold her greatest joy, and the bed – later, _hopefully_ – would hold _mine_.

I’d had the grand piano express-delivered to her new residence and tuned on site before I even picked her up. On top of the cost of the piano itself, I had to pay a small fortune for this to happen at five in the morning. _No matter._ Many more items were scheduled to arrive later that very day; clothes, furniture, draperies, kitchen supplies – amazing, your human ‘internet!’ It had only been around for a short time, but merchants everywhere had taken advantage of it. You can spend a great fortune in less than a few hours, and at three o’clock in the a.m. no less! Delightful! I would deal with the bills that were sure to arrive later, but what an amazing time-saver.

At present, the manor was still bare inside, with the exception of her bed waiting for her upstairs and that majestic instrument. It had held her so captive, resting in the front salon, awash in the morning light, beckoning her… I nearly burst out of my pants at her reaction to the thing!

She had cried.

_Success!_

I insisted she was still too wounded to work yet, but I assured her that the day would soon come when she’d be up and about, composing to her heart’s content. She had pouted slightly then, lower lip jutting out around those wonderfully salty tears of joy, so I sat down on the piano’s bench and let her caress the keys for a bit. When she was satisfied that her new toy was indeed _not_ an illusion, Gilda leaned back into my embrace and there were fresh tears in her eyes. I wiped them away gently and she gave me the sweetest look I had seen on her face thus far. She hugged me fiercely about my neck, saying _thank you_ _Alexander_ around her distinctly feminine sobs.

Have I mentioned how very beguiling that sound is to the male human body? I forgot just how alluring it was, as I suddenly felt a great need within me to _hold_ and _mend_ and _caress_ and **_claim_**.

I was going to have to get used to that sort of thing all over again. I was going to have to learn to _control my reaction_ to that sort of thing. I found I had to suppress an intense craving to take her mouth in my own, still-split lips be damned. The blood on them had coagulated, but _oh_ … it would still be so very delectable… In any case, I gave her the accepted polite response to her gratitude and stood up quickly, lest she begin to notice the abrupt hardness in my nether regions.

_Too soon for that, Demon. Too soon._

Still, I had to remember this moment. That piano would prove to be her Achilles heel.

I moved on from the salon quickly, and she asked to get down again. I insisted that she was simply to damaged and weak, and that it was nothing for me to carry her throughout the entire house to help familiarize her with her surroundings. It was still an empty shell, but it would soon be a home. Her home.

 _Our_ home. For a time, anyway.

•

My happiness was short lived. The first sign of real trouble showed itself within days.

Our first few days living in the new manor were quiet. Other than the incident in the kitchen during our very first morning together, there was not much activity on her part. I learned that Gilda had no idea how to live the life of a woman of means, let alone yielding to being nursed as well as pampered.

For instance, due to her injuries a bath was still out of the question as of yet, and I was still sponge-bathing her as she lay on her new bed, morning and night. However, she was uncomfortable with such familiarity and would only allow me to go so far, ordering me away for the more tender bits. It was highly frustrating for me.

First off, simply put, I’d have done a better job. A much more _thorough_ job. I can _see_ foreign matter, you know.

Secondly, her present reaction to our intimacy was a far cry from the fresh, eager seventeen-year-old I’d approached three years ago. I daresay if I _had_ gotten to her back then, I’d have made my way into her pants before that evening’s meal. I could smell the lust on her for nearly the entire conversation. I can still smell it, now, while I bathe and dress her… only I can add _embarrassed_ and _tense_ to the list.

How do you humans _lose_ that wonderful openness of your youth so easily? If I were in your position, considering how short your lives actually are, I’d hang on to every happiness as though I were defending my offspring.

Then again, most of you are lousy parents. So I guess it’s to be expected.

After most of the décor was in place, I kept asking her what she thought of it all, and at first she refused to comment. When I finally got through to her that this was _her_ home and she had every right to decorate it the way she wanted, she finally told me just what she thought of my decisions.

Gilda had grown into quite the _direct_ adult. She despised my choice in curtains, but adored all the furniture. She was indifferent towards the wallpaper and paint in half the rooms, yet approved of it in the others. The expensive rugs on the hardwood floors? She liked those so much it gave her gooseflesh. But as to the framed painted reproductions on the walls – masters, every last one of them – she said they were _trite_ and that I needed to _expand my artistic horizons_.

My artistic sensibilities are just fine, thank you. However, I’ll be sure to expand _her_ horizons the first chance I get.

I wasn’t about to change any of those things, of course. In case you haven’t gleaned it yet, I’m a bit of a ‘my way or the highway’ demon. But, it was good that she got it out of her system. In the end it didn’t matter, because I don’t truly believe that furniture and wallpaper were major concerns in her life, even now as she had the money to do something about it. That piano, however... Well, let’s just say that it was a stroke of genius on my part that I had started with it.

Gilda, as I have told you, was a musician. She was studying to be a composer. But more than that, she was an artist, and in every sense of the word. She had every intrinsic negative personality trait that the all the greats were known to possess – traits that, I tell you now, are _very_ difficult to live with, let alone attempt to eradicate.

Stubborn. Easily distracted, with at least one part of her brain constantly focused on music. Densely unreachable for even minor conversation when she is working. Subject to sudden fits of anger, melancholy and elation – fits that diminish as quickly as they start.

Artists are having a laugh at the universe’s expense, and refuse to let anyone else in on the joke.

Highly annoying. And undeniably attractive. Ask yourself this… despite the fact that these days we all know about Edgar Allen Poe’s addiction to drugs, Vincent Van Gogh’s insanity, and Maria Callas’ stormy temper, would you deny the opportunity to spend an afternoon with any one of those geniuses, just to see what they are like? I thought not.

Being that she was still dependent upon me to get around, most of Gilda’s time during that first week was spent reading, studying, or composing while lying in her new bed or on the furniture in the lower rooms. She asked me briefly about fulfilling my end of the contract, but I told her to _hush,_ that we would get to that discussion later. I wanted to get the manor in perfect working order and get her healthy and back to school first.

Despite all that, it was when we got to her clothes that the real arguments began.

Dressing Ciel had been a pleasure. He was thin and young and beautiful… but most importantly he didn’t really give a damn what I put on him or what I clothes bought. The only time he balked was when I dressed him in a frilly girl’s party dress so that he could be a decoy while trying to catch a criminal. He had looked so very pretty, and the _corset_ … I get excited just remembering that day. Boy clothes, girls, it didn’t matter. Every single day with him was like dressing a doll. I enjoyed putting Ciel’s clothing on him almost as much as I loved taking it off of him.

Shopping for him was easy. The styles were what they were back then, and people with money were expected to dress a certain way, and not to veer. Changes were slow, trends were few and manageable, and a fad could simply be ignored if it was garish.

But this was nineteen ninety-seven, and it was America. The term _trend_ didn’t even begin to describe the fashion world.

Gilda had… _eclectic_ tastes, which made decision-making all the more difficult for me. And apparently, I had made _all_ the wrong decisions when I purchased her wonderful new clothes.

Good Lord, the _yelling._ For someone so pretty and delicate looking, she could give a rabid hellhound a run for its money! My sensitive ears are still ringing from it.

We had been in the manor for exactly three days, four hours and twenty-nine minutes when her coordinated, pretty, _expensive_ new clothing finally began to show up. At first she was eager to see what I had selected, as there had been no true ire on her part regarding the décor; as I said, she didn’t really care about that. But after a few garments were presented to her, she grew quiet. Then she started getting agitated. _Then_ , she began telling me, in no uncertain terms, what she thought of my choices. Within a short time, we were nearly at each other’s throats.

And I am sure I do not have to remind you exactly which one of us would have won _that_ sort of battle.

Here is an example of how the conversation went that evening as we opened package after package of internet-acquired garments and shoes – her sitting against pillows recuperating on her new bed, with me standing at the ready with a hand-held steamer and padded hangers, eager to fill her empty closets.

 _“Where_ did you get _that?”_ she asked, pointing at a lovely, one hundred percent cotton button down shirt, in eggshell with pearl buttons. It dangled in my hands, her expression towards it sour, as though it was a box of night crawlers.

“I selected it from the Fall line at Abercrombie and… something or other, Mistress,” I said, holding it up and admiring the delicate, embroidered red detail around the rounded-edge collar. “Considering how late in the season it is, I was lucky to have found it…”

She shook her head in odd circles, eyebrows raised incredulously, and responded with a rather snide tone to her voice. “Oh. Abercrombie and… _Did_ you now?”

“Ah… Yes. It is not to your liking?”

“Gee, Alex… What do you think? Do I look pleased?”

I cleared my throat. “Well. Yes. Not every piece has to be well-loved,” I started, touching it up with the steamer. “Some pieces function quietly, as essentials. This will go lovely with both the red wool skirt and the maroon jumper.” I walked towards her closet to put it away.

“Yeah. About that. I don’t wear sweaters.”

I was aghast. “Nonsense! A good jumper is essential to any young woman’s wardrobe.”

She shook her head, pushing her composition notebook aside. “All right, now, you listen a’ me _Jeeves_.”

Who was this person?

“Furst off, this here’s ‘merica,” she spat, using an atrocious southern accent that grated on my nerves. “An’ round here we all say _sweaters_ , not ‘jumpers’. “ I turned, looking at her, trying very hard to control my own temper. “Secondly, I do not _wear_ sweaters. I do not wear _sleeveless_ _shells_ ,” I knew of at least six of those we had yet to unwrap, “ _turtlenecks_ , mock or otherwise,” oh dear, there were eleven of those, “or _cardigans_.”

Oh my. No _cardigans?_ That little bitch.

“I find most knitted stuff too hot, even in winter. If I get cold indoors, I like sweatshirts and hoodies.”

“Hood-ease, Mistress? What is that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Remember the blue top I was wearing when you picked me up the other morning to bring me here? It had a zipper all the way down the front?”

_That thing._

“You mean the navy blue garment you had on over your white t-shirt? The one with the little red skulls all over it and the hood– _Ah_. ‘Hoodie’. I see.” I pursed my lips and turned back to her closet, and hung the button down shirt on the rod. “It was damaged. Old. I threw it out for you.”

I practically felt her eyes bugging out before they shot daggers into my back. I turned at her silence and found she was staring at me like I had eaten a puppy. Which, incidentally, tastes revolting.

 _“You_ **_what_** _?!”_ She bellowed. “That was my favorite one, you asshole!”

“Mistress, please!” I said, placing a hand to my ear. “Such language for a young lady! You will cease–”

“ _I_ will cease?! Are you _kidding_ me? Who the _fuck_ is the butler here and who the fuck is the Mistress?!”

“You are my Mistress. _I_ am your butler,” I said, stalking towards her. I knew my eyes were glowing at that point and I sounded quite angry, but there was no way I could have stopped myself. When I got to her bed, I leaned down on my knuckles, placing a fist on either side of her hips, and got quite close to her face. “But more than that, I am one _hell_ of a butler, and you would do well to remember just where I come–”

“Okay then, mister,” she cut me off, totally unimpressed with my demonic nature peeking through and not backing away an inch. “You’re so full of hell, so tell me. _Just what the **hell** else of mine have you thrown away?!”_

“I threw away all the shoes and clothing you came to me with, except for what you are currently wearing… and that _atrocious_ canvas bag you used for school.”

Her face went positively _white_ with rage.

“Mistress,” I began, forcing the sound of reason into my voice. “It was a ragged, old flea trap, with irremovable coffee rings. It was an old bag when I met you three years ago, for heaven’s sake. ‘Let it go’, as they say.”

“ _Let it go?_ That bag was…” she swallowed hard, and I thought she was going to start crying. But she shook her head slightly and went right back to being mad. “Where is it?! I want it back! _Now!”_

Angry, I turned away from her and rifled through the packages on the floor until I found the one I wanted. Tearing the box open with precision, I threw the packaging aside and held an over-priced but beautiful leather book satchel in one hand, and pointed at it furiously with the other.

“I have replaced it with _this_ one, do you see? New, fine calfskin, stronger, and with sterling silver appointments,” I said through clenched fangs, stomping towards her on the bed. “Why on earth would you want that old piece of rubbish when you can have _this?_ ”

I was in her face again by now, leather bag gripped in one hand and her jaw held fast in my other. She grimaced, trying to remove herself from my fingers, but my hands were like iron, giving her a little taste of my immense strength. I was reminded, briefly, of when I had done the very same thing to Ciel.

Gilda glanced from the bag back to my demonic eyes, her eyes showing just the edge of nervousness, and I noticed she was trembling. She was very frightened, she positively _reeked_ of it, and I’d be remiss if I did not admit that I enjoyed it at that moment. Also, I found myself getting aroused again, only this time, it was not out of a desire to soothe and mend… it was to _quell_ and _control_.

But, despite her fear, she was also not backing down from me, which made me proud. Never before had a mark gotten me so conflicted in such a short time. When she finally spoke, it was quiet, and her voice was shaking, but she got the words out.

“Demon, I… I _order_ you to get that bag back.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. It was an order. I would do it. But not before I found out: _“Why?”_

She frowned, then squared her shoulders. She moved to slap my hand away from her jaw, and I allowed it to fall away when she made contact. I could give her that much; if I had remained steadfast in holding her jaw, she’d have probably broken her hand on mine when she slapped it.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! _Get my bag back now!_ Do as you have been _ordered_ ,” she yelled in my face.

I stared at her.

“What are you gonna do? _Kill me?_ Break the fucking contract, _go ahead!_ I’ll be dead and you can dance in my blood and jack off to your heart’s content, but nothing else will happen. _You certainly won’t get my soul.”_

Damn it all. She was brave… and _smart_.

I sighed, closing my eyes and getting control over myself. Eyes returned to black, fangs retracted, cock went into repose.

“Very well… _Mistress_.”

I was forced to leave her alone in the manor for about thirty-eight minutes. I began by retracing the route of the dustmen, as they had, unfortunately, done their job and collected the manor’s trash that very morning – including the bag I had filled with her clothing, shoes and that _goddamn_ canvas bag. When I came upon the right spot in the correct refuse dump I searched for her scent and found the bag. Rather than remove the canvas sack, I decided to simply bring _all_ of it back to her, in the hopes that it would pacify her, and I would have a tool to negotiate my way to an agreement with her regarding her wardrobe. By the time I got back, I smelled disgusting and… Well, to be honest… I felt horrible for having scared her.

Things simply couldn’t be left as they were.

After I cleaned myself up and brought her the requested bowl of soup (I will break her of saying ‘please’ to me yet, I tell you), we tried again. It turns out that Gilda did not hate my every purchase. She truly despised some of the pieces, but what really rankled her was the way in which I was _planning_ her outfits in whole, right down to her underclothes.

With her tastes all over the place, she also preferred to mix things up, so some of the newer pieces stayed. Some of the old ones went; she either never cared for them in the first place, or they were too old and she had no sentimental feelings attached to them anyway.

We finally agreed that I would assemble an outfit as I saw fit, then she could rearrange it as she pleased. And, at least one day a week, what she wore was entirely up to her (she went with Saturday, ‘date night’ as she called it. We’ll just see about _that._ ) and I would get one day a week of my choosing when my selections were absolute.

I learned a valuable lesson that day regarding my new Mistress. She was not Ciel. She had different goals and definitely had different tastes than he’d had. And perhaps the most notable difference between them, Gilda _hated_ giving me orders. She preferred to inquire, or worse, _discuss._

But as with Ciel, I could manipulate her on some levels. I just had to figure out what they were.

 

+

 

“What the heck am I gonna tell people when I get back to school?”

“Simply say that you came into a grand inheritance. If they ask whom, say it was a distant, unmarried, _unknown_ Aunt. Say nothing more. You owe no one an explanation.” I lifted her left leg up, the wounded one, to clean the back of it, and she winced.

“Apologies, Miss. Too fast?”

“No, not really. The muscles are still protesting. I need to flex them more often, anyway. Just ignore me,” she muttered.

I leaned in, hoping to bridge the gap between us during these moments just a bit more. _“Ignore_ you? My word, that would be _impossible_ ,” I said smoothly, wiping her leg with the sponge from the back of her knee up to her ankle. Little drops of scented water escaped the sponge and ran down her leg, all the way to the back of her thigh. She shivered, and then tensed.

“Just relax, Mistress. You are too tight, and it will not help your recovery.”

“Doesn’t this _bother_ you? Having to clean me like this?”

“Not in the least. I enjoy serving you in any way that I am able, as you are my–”

“Your delicious prey, yeah yeah. I get it.”

“Well, I was going to say ‘as you are my Mistress’,” I began, bending her leg to relieve the tightness in it. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. It was still painful, but she was quite the trooper. I leaned on her knee and pushed gently as the physical therapist had shown me to do. “But my delicious prey will work as well,” I said, my voice nearly at a whisper for such an intimate moment. She moaned just a tiny bit, and I released her leg, setting it back down on the bed gently.

“All right, Young Miss?”

“Yes. That felt better than it did this morning, but don’t do it again, okay? Once was enough for tonight.”

“As you wish… but tomorrow morning, we do it twice.”

“Whatever.”

I moved up to her torso, and cleansed her arms and underarms, shoulders, neck, and stomach. I wiped her breasts clean as she never seemed to have any concerns about that; it was only when I got to her privates that she balked.

I sat her up carefully and washed her back, then lay her back down again and looked her in the eyes.

“ _Please_ let me finish.”

She sighed, closing her eyes and looking away from me. “We’ve been over this, Alexander.”

“Yes, and I have capitulated up until now. But I ask you, please, let me do this for you. Mistress, allow me to be blunt.”

Gilda looked up at me. “Speak your piece, Demon.”

“Every time you try to clean yourself, you strain your ribs again. Your embarrassment causes you to seek to get it over with quickly by scrubbing in too harsh a manner, which is not doing your tender flesh, still raw from being violated, any good.” Her lower lip quivered slightly. “The bottom line is, you need to heal properly. We declined in-home care because I will _not_ allow a stranger to handle you thus, but your stubbornness is not helping matters any.”

She sniffed a bit, and began to cry.

I immediately put down the sponge and sat on the bed next to her side. Wiping away her tears, I said “There, there Miss Gilda,” in my most comforting voice. That particular voice has been known to charm the clothes off of many a human. It is the one that Grell Sutcliff wants to hear personally, and never, ever will.

“You don’t need to remind me I was raped, you idiot. I remember it all now,” she said through her tears.

“I am sorry, Miss. Of course you do. And it was a _horrible_ thing.” Well. The beating was not so horrible – ah, not for _me_ , at least. Opportunity only knocking once, and all that rot.

“You’re gonna have to be patient with me, Alex. I’m used to taking care of myself, you know? It’s been me, and _only_ me, for a long time now.” She hiccupped and her breasts wobbled. _Adorable._ “If I was freaked out with you just bringing me a cup of coffee, how do you think having you bathe me is making me feel?”

“Amorous?” I asked, my voice filled with a lilting hope.

She turned magenta again. And oh, _lucky me_ , I got to see it all _over_ her person! Even her knees got pink. Huzzah!

Wiping away the rest of her tears, I said, “If I can’t give my Mistress a simple, pleasurable sponge bath, what sort of a butler would I be?”

She tried to hide her smile. A delightfully good sign.

“Now,” I started, effusing my voice with sympathy as well as a little temptation. “Let me finish for you, yes?” I picked up the sponge again, and touched the edge of the soft towel she’d kept draped over her hips since we began this little routine almost a week ago.

Biting her lip, she nodded her assent. “Just… be gentle, okay?”

“Of course, Miss. Leave it to me.”

She surrendered peacefully to my ministrations while I cleansed her most sensitive areas, and I coaxed her to relax even further with soft words of encouragement.

It was the most significant headway I’d made in our relationship since we’d contracted together. And I won’t insult you by pretending that I didn’t enjoy it, either.

The headway, I mean.

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

+

 

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 5**

 

 

+

 

Gilda had been home with just me for company for about a week and a half now. Most of the arguing seemed to be behind us, thankfully. She was working diligently on bringing her leg back up to snuff because she was anxious about getting back to school. This was her last year; she was set to graduate the following Spring. Her attack had taken place a little over a month into the fall term, so at least she was not yet in the thick of preparing for finals. From the way she spoke about them, I had a feeling the coming Spring was going to be a fairly chaotic for her.

No matter. She had _me_ now, and I would ‘sweat the small stuff’ for her, as she’d put it.

She was eating her breakfast in bed, so I busied myself organizing her shoe rack. There were so many lovely pairs to choose from in her closet now! Some of them not so lovely in my opinion, but well-loved, at least.

She wasn’t up to wearing shoes yet. I was still carrying her everywhere, so it hardly mattered. She was finally comfortable with me doing that, which was nice, especially towards the day’s end when she was drowsy and seemed to enjoy being held. I have a feeling there hadn’t been much of that sort of thing in her life before I came along. Which is a pity, because she’s quite nice to hold when she isn’t being defensive.

“Alexander?”

“Yes, Miss?” I asked. I turned to face her as she finished her breakfast, and for once, she’d eaten at all of it. “Can I bring you more?”

“No, but it was delicious.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I said bowing slightly.

“I just had a question. Or a comment, actually.”

“Yes?”

“You still haven’t asked me anything about my father’s business – I know, I know,” she cut me off when I tried to respond, “You want us to get used to each other. You want me to get back to school first. But Alex, I’m not sure you realize how complicated the stock market is. Plus I’m not sure he’s entirely, um, legit, you know? If you don’t know much about how it works, you’re going to need help.”

“All right, Miss,” I started, removing the tray from her lap. I refilled her cup from the carafe next to her bed, and handed her a fresh cup of coffee. Sitting down next to her on the bed, I asked, “Why don’t you start by telling me something about your relationship with him?”

“How is that going to help?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“Hm. Okay, well, sorry to say there _is_ no relationship with him. He left before I was born. As soon as he found out my mom was pregnant with me, he booked. Said we ‘weren’t what he wanted’ or something. Or so I was told.”

“You have reason to believe you were lied to about that?”

“No, not really. Let’s just say that Veronica, my mom, couldn’t tell me a single thing about him without slathering it with her anger.”

“How long were your parents married?”

“They never were married. Franks is my mother’s last name. My father’s name is Norman Anthony Bellows. Say, Alex – what’s your last name, anyway? You’ve never said.”

“The only name I have is the one you’ve given me, Miss.”

“Well, we’ll need a last name when people ask. Unless you _want_ to do the Cher–slash–Madonna thing?”

I had a vague idea of what she was referring to, and she was right, I needed a last name. Sighing, I gave her the same one I always used. “Michaelis. Alexander Michaelis.”

At least it sounded nice paired with Alexander, like Sebastian did. I cannot tell you how mortified I’d been introducing myself as _Diddums Michaelis_ when I was with Linda Smith.

She seemed to like the name, and smiled up at me as she continued. “They were three years together, I think. He took up with another woman after that. Did the same damn thing to her as well – never married her, knocked her up, and left her with a bun in the oven. I have a little half-sibling.”

“Splendid, you have more family. Would you like me to locate them?”

Gilda froze midway to a sip, and looked at me strangely for a moment. Then she simply said, “No.”

“What did your mother do after your father abandoned the two of you?”

“Bitched, cried and drank. A _lot_ of drinking. That’s how she died, she drank herself to liver failure.”

“Ah. Cirrhosis?”

She shook her head. “No, that’s usually slower. She was way more bingy with her liquor than that. She got alcoholic hepatitis, and then that became liver failure, like, overnight. It was gross and it was hard, I mean I was only fifteen… but we had no insurance, so I took care of her. In fact, I ended up playing nursemaid the last several months of her life… not that she took much care of _me_ before that.

There. You see? I _told_ you. Gilda had been starved for affection. Well, she was going to get plenty of that from me. Just as soon as I got her used to the idea.

“You had no relationship with your father, and a _bad_ relationship with your mother?”

She sighed. “She blamed me. For him leaving, I mean. And she told me so on a regular basis.”

“Yet you still looked after her.”

“She was my mom, so yeah. Stupid, I know.”

“Not stupid. I’d say that was respectful. In any case, you were still a child. I don’t suppose she came to her senses before she died and thanked you for caring for her on her deathbed?”

Gilda rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee.

“Yes, I didn’t think so. So you were burdened with a destitute living environment, raised by a psychology abusive mother who eventually drank herself to death, and you began to work, early in life, to try and improve your situation. I know you don’t care to hear this,” I said, fluffing her pillows behind her back, “but it’s that kind of behavior that stems from a pure soul.”

She shrugged. “I only did what needed to be done.”

“Exactly.”

She eyed me for a moment, then shrugged her little shoulders. “I was doing pretty good for myself before the conservatory and its massive tuition bills came calling. Mom was already gone, and it was obvious I was gonna graduate from high school early, so a friend hired a lawyer and got me emancipated.”

“Friend?” I inquired, skeptically.

“My piano tutor, at the time. I had a job waitressing already, and I was prepared to look for work in nightclubs as a piano player. My piano tutor and my teachers at school weren’t exactly happy about that, but still, I really was prepared make it on my own.”

“Well, money is no longer an issue, I will see to that. Not to worry, Mistress, I will get help if I require it. But, I am confused – you mean to tell me you learned your musicianship in a _public_ school setting?”

“Mostly. One of my teachers in elementary school saw how intrigued I was by the piano in class, so she was giving me lessons for free, but I surpassed her abilities really fast. That’s when people started calling me a ‘prodigy’. Whatever,” she rolled her eyes again. “She got one of her professional musician friends to give me lessons for free after that. That’s the guy that hired a lawyer and got me emancipated after mom died. He’s a really good tutor, and I stuck with him until I entered the conservatory. In fact, he went behind my back and got me an audition for the conservatory.”

“I am glad he did. You are not suited to a life of dingy nightclubs and piano bar music, Miss.”

The corners of her mouth curled up in an embarrassed smile. “Yeah… I was mad at first, but he was right to do it. Pretty much all my music stuff was accomplished through the kindness of strangers who seemed to think I had a gift.”

“You _do_ have a gift, Mistress. You should not be afraid to admit that. Speaking of your musical talent, I assume that comes from your mother?”

“God, no! That’s from my loving father, good ole’ Norm.”

“Not your mother? How can you be so sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure all right. I have _living_ proof.” For some reason, she changed the subject abruptly. “Say, Alex, about the skirt you picked out for today…”

_Oh, here we go._

 

+

 

“Hello?”

I watched with narrowed eyes on the closed-circuit TV screen in the foyer as a young man spoke into the microphone very politely. “I’m Fortune, here to see Gilda. Is this…” he looked around and up, smiling nervously when he found the camera and then swallowing hard. “Do I have the right house?”

The security system I had gotten installed went off again, alerting me to a visitor at the front gate, and I thought it may have been another delivery as I was still waiting for some furniture.

“This is the Frank’s residence. Gilda Franks is the Mistress of the manor,” I said into the intercom. “To whom am I speaking, again?”

“Fortune – Sorry. _Fortunado Fernandez_. I’m a conservatory student originally from Chile, here on scholarship. Oh – and on Uncle Rafael’s money, heh.” The boy was smiling nervously into the camera as he spoke entirely too much. “Um… I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, his accent just barely coming through. He had obviously been well tutored as a youth. “But, that is to say… Well, who are _you_ , exactly?”

“Young man, I am the Franks family butler.” I was trying not to intimidate him _too_ much. He was being polite, after all. “Let me check with the Mistress about your visit. I shall return momentarily. Do wait there a moment,” I said, flipping off the intercom and eyeing him a bit further on the screen in the foyer.

As you know, I still despised that such technology was now found in law enforcement facilities. But to have it here… what an advantage it gave me over callers! I could see them, but they could not see me. So _easy_ to strike fear.

The visit had indeed been planned – by Gilda. “ _Do_ try and tell me about these things ahead of time, Mistress. I can prepare for your callers,” I said to her, settling her into a chair in the salon. “Even if they are _young men.”_

She looked very good that day, a big improvement over when I had first brought her home. Her long, light brown hair was finally responding to the various treatments I was using on it, and was now _wavy_ instead of frizzy. Fresh and clean, it felt like strands of silk when I combed it. I had pulled it back into a loose ribbon where it trailed lovingly down her back.

The split lip was almost completely gone, and Gilda’s pale skin was dotted with adorable patches of light freckles that had blossomed nicely since I’d begun overseeing her skin care regimen. There was a cluster of them up high on each cheek right below her eyes that I was particularly fond of as they darkened when she blushed for me.

I’d forced her into a matched set of lacy, dark red intimates that morning. The brassiere (a ‘C’ cup, in case you are wondering) and panties had looked great enough on her, and covering them up had been a shame, but the outfit looked just as nice. Her height and weight was completely average for a woman her age, five-foot-five and one hundred twenty-nine pounds. She had strong legs and a fantastic backside, which I chose to show off in a fitted, forest green worsted wool skirt. I picked a maroon button-down for her shirt, which went so well with her dark green eyes, and I left the top two buttons undone, providing the most miniscule of teases.

The short maroon socks with little satin bows on them, along with a touch of mascara and some sheer pink candy-flavored lip-gloss added a flair of _Lolita_ to the whole ensemble. I was exceedingly pleased with myself when I’d finished with her that morning.

But now I was beginning to regret how attractive she looked. If I caught this _Fortunado Fernandez_ person with so much as an uninvited finger on my precious Mistress –

“ _Relax,_ Heathcliff. Fortune’s my best friend.”

I stood up, fisting my hands on my hips and giving her a disappointed frown. “The only thing a young man his age is interested in is a subject I cannot bring myself to discuss with you at present.”

She laughed. “Then you’d better gird your loins, Alex.”

“Pardon _me_ , Miss?”

She tilted her head, giving me a sympathetic smile. “Fortune digs men, and _you_ are a hottie.”

“Ah.”

_More modern vernacular. How I **loathe** it._

“Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky, huh?” she smiled, a little too wide. “Now go let him in already, it’s chilly out today and he’s from a South American climate.”

I watched as the young man got back into his expensive British car, then I entered the code that opened the gate for him. He drove up to the front door, got out _without_ slamming his car door, and patiently waited on the front stoop for me to let him in.

Nearly all of my hesitation was relieved when he entered the manor, immediately handed me his coat, and introduced himself properly. He was a well-groomed boy; very attractive with long black hair held neatly in a ponytail, smooth, brown skin, beautiful dark brown eyes, and fairly tall. He even possessed the decency to have picked up a stray package left by the gate and brought it in with him, so I added ‘accommodating’ to my assessment. He also knew not to try and shake my hand – I _am_ the help after all – and he followed my lead into the parlor.

The boy was obviously the very best sort that came from money. Perhaps he’d give Gilda a few lessons in the proper behavior of a person of status. I could only hope.

I was eavesdropping from the kitchen, just in case the handsome lad suddenly decided he was no longer a homosexual and tried to coerce my Young Miss into something untoward. With you humans, one just _never_ knows!In the end, there was nothing for me to be concerned about.

He was a delightful young man. They spent the afternoon giggling, drinking iced tea and eating some savory hors d'oeuvres I’d thrown together. Fortune seemed very concerned about Gilda’s health, and told her that all her instructors and friends at school were anxiously awaiting her return. Much to his delight, she let him play her new piano – he was very good, but I had my suspicions that Gilda was better. I also learned that he played gaucho-style guitar.

As they spoke, I put two-and-two together, and learned that all of the conservatory students who were in their final year had similar graduation requirements: you had to prove you could play an instrument as part of an orchestra, which differed from techniques used as a soloist; you had to compose a final piece of music specifically for your chosen instrument; and you had to master the basics on how to conduct a symphony. Young Mr. Fernandez’s intent at school was to become a conductor, not a composer, like my Mistress.

They got along splendidly, and I could see why they were such good friends. Although Fortunado came from wealth, and Gilda had been poor, their money wasn’t actually providing them with any sort of fulfillment. It was a means to a more _comfortable_ end, and nothing more. They were both extremely talented students with a burning desire to succeed in their musical endeavors; their money, or lack of it, did not concern them.

I also listened intently when Fortunado asked Gilda just what had happened that lead to her new life of luxury.

“This place is a lot bigger than Uncle Rafe’s house! What didja do, Gillie? Rob a bank?”

She proceeded to tell him the tale, exactly as I had instructed, and he accepted it without a lot of fuss – thankfully. I made a mental note to reward her for that.

“So, you’re loaded now, huh? That must feel nice.”

“It would, but I’m not used to it. Alex has been a lot of help.”

_Sweet child._

“That’s the butler? Yeah, he seems like he’s been around the feather duster a time or two before.” I heard her snort rudely. She’ll probably demand I walk around with a pink feather duster sticking out of my back pocket from here on out. “I like him,” the boy continued, “He’s totally professional but he isn’t a cold fish, either. You should lean on him more, Gillie, that’s what he’s here for and he obviously cares about you.”

_Oh, if you only knew._

Gilda cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Well, it’s just… all the _money_ , Forch. It’s a little overwhelming. I mean, I went from a one-room hovel on Federal Offense Avenue to… _this,”_ I heard her say, and she was probably waving her hands around, indicating everything.

“The money making you nervous?” he asked gently, and I heard him shift.

“Yeah. It’s weird. It shouldn’t right? But it does.” Her voice had grown very quiet.

_Time to make another entrance._

Walking in with more iced tea and a sweet, I glanced down to see he had taken her hands in his. I didn’t smell anything indecent coming off of him, so I tried to ignore it. I heard him say to her, “Uncle Rafael can help, maybe. He’s a stock trader and he knows people.”

“I thought… I thought your uncle was…” she started, but whatever it was she was going to say, it died on her lips as I got closer.

Fortune glanced up at me as I hovered with another tray, and released her hands. I smiled politely. “I’ve made something sweet to finish,” I announced. “Raspberry crème petits fours.”

Gilda was indifferent. She took one and placed it on her dessert dish, but did not actually eat it. Fortunado, however, took three, and his eyes lit up with the first bite.

“Oh, _man_ , can I take him home with me? These are _so_ good!”

“You flatter me, sir. But I’m afraid I am spoken for. I belong to Miss Gilda, and will for some time.” She smiled up at me softly. “If I may be so bold as to inquire, what was that you were saying to my Mistress as I entered the salon?”

The boy nodded, then finished chewing and swallowed, _and_ wiped his mouth before speaking.

Oh, I _liked_ him.

Gilda shook her head for him to stop, but he waved her off. “It’s all right, Gillie. I was telling her about my Uncle Rafe. He has a lot of connections in the financial world.” He looked back at my Mistress, who became uneasy. “She’s just apprehensive to talk about it because some of the people in my family are not exactly known for being completely above board. Apparently she doesn’t realize yet that Butlers are sworn to confidence.”

“Indeed. Yes we are, _Sworn_ to secrecy,” I said to him happily. _He_ understood. His soul was not particularly potent, but he was an intelligent, concerned person.

Hmm… So this Uncle Rafael was a not-so-legitimate stock trader, was he? That gave me pause. I still had to figure out how to take down Norman Bellow’s shady firm, and fighting fire with fire was always a good place to start.

Gilda leaned over and groaned as she put her face in her hands. Fortunado pat her shoulder affectionately. “Gillie, it’s _okay._ For heaven’s sake! No one’s going to get in trouble just from talking about it!”

“Mistress, perhaps you should listen to what Mr. Fernandez has to offer. There are still some issue with your finances that I am unqualified to deal with.” Those issues being, of course, taking over her father’s firm and then destroying his personal wealth. The modern financial world was ever so complicated. She was right, I was going to need help, much as I needed the help of Master Ciel’s ‘staff’. Her friend didn’t need to know the details yet, but Gilda knew _exactly_ what I was referring to. “It may put your heart at ease should you employ the services of someone you know, rather than a stranger. I could stay and listen, or even handle it all for you… if you’d like.”

Fortunado Fernandez stayed on for a couple more hours. I learned that he was from a wealthy Chilean family with a pure ancestry, a pre-columbian genetic heritage that made him an honest-to-goodness Native South American. His was an exceedingly conservative lot, and his Uncle Rafael had taken the boy in when his parents disowned him after he came ‘out’ about being homosexual.

Honestly, this business of humiliating, shunning and murdering your fellow humans for all the various insipid reasons you come up with – real _or_ imagined - just what is _wrong_ with you people? I will never understand it. The important part of being human – your _soul_ , in case you are still confused on that one – has very little to do with what gender you are (or aren’t), what your personal beliefs are (or _aren’t_ ), your appearance, how much money you have, or whom or how often you want to ‘fuck’. So silly.

Luckily for Fortunado, being taken in by his Uncle included a move to the United States, where he eventually won admittance into the conservatory. He and my Mistress had met in their very first class of their first year. They had a five-year age difference – remember that Gilda had graduated ahead of schedule from her American secondary education, but after Fortunado moved to the US, his education was stalled due to the business of obtaining citizenship status. Despite the differences in their ages and financial status, they had taken to each other instantly. It is no wonder to me that Gilda’s protective nature for her friend came out the moment he kissed her goodbye and drove away.

“Listen, Demon. If you involve Fortune in something that gets him hurt, I will be _livid_ with you. Got it?”

I assured her that she had nothing to worry about. I had no plans to involve Fortunado Fernandez in anything Machiavellian. Unless, of course, the young man expressed a desire to engage in sex with me. He was pretty enough that I might not be able to resist. Olé!

As to his uncle Rafael’s involvement, however, Gilda failed to mention any restrictions. So he was an entirely different matter.

As Fortune would have it, pun intended, I arranged with Gilda’s pretty friend to bring Uncle Rafael Fernandez to the manor the following day. I found that he had a soft spot for most everyone that needed help, but yes, he was quite shady. This was exactly what my Mistress and I needed. It was my good luck that he also adored Gilda like a daughter, so I was very confident that he wouldn’t refuse our offer. He nearly fell over himself hugging her and expressing his desire to rip her attacker to shreds.

_Too late!_ Ha ha ha.

The surprise came, though, when he found out whom her father actually was. In an auspicious turn of events, I wasn’t going to have to apply much seduction at all to obtain Uncle Rafael’s services, since he hated Gilda’s father.

“ _That’s_ your daddy? Norm Bellows?”

“Yep. The name Franks is from my mom. He never married her, so yeah, I’m a bastard.”

“Nothin’ of the sort, Gillie. Yer a perfect little girl!” She smiled up at him. “But I fuckin’ hate that guy. Oh, pardon my French, Gillie.”

That word. Is not. _French_. I sighed.

“No problem, Uncle Rafe. I fucking hate him, too.”

“Mistress! _Language,”_ I scolded.

The two of them snickered together, and Fortunado rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

 

+

 

The offer was discussed and an agreement quickly solidified. After Uncle Rafael was on board, and yes, even _I_ had to call him that, my struggle to find more help came to an end. Aside from his position as a stock broker (which we were referring to as ‘the chef’) he also had valuable connections to the underworld. This made Gilda a bit antsy, but after I told her that I’d had extensive experience dealing with such types in the past, she relaxed enough to just ‘let me handle it’. I didn’t go into detail regarding Ciel’s position as guard dog to the Queen, as I had no desire to bring that up, and fortunately she did not press things.

Along with Uncle Rafael, we now had resources for information to illegal activity in the financial world, and together we could get a better handle on how to approach Bellows’ firm.

Rafael said we needed an accountant and a lawyer, and he found us both. The accountant’s name was Michael Jacobs. I assigned him as our ‘gardener’, and he would be in charge of laundering the money. I got a bit excited when he used that term, ‘laundering’, but that died soon after I got a brief education in what that actually meant. Jacobs was an average looking black man in his late twenties. Young, but already very good at his job. He was private and quiet, polite. Dependable.

Our ‘maid’, Evelyn Shapiro, was a tax lawyer that knew how to clean up the loose ends. She was a tiny, dark-haired woman, a confirmed bachelorette with a good sense of humor and impeccable taste in business attire. She also had a slight mothering instinct that had helped gain her an instant rapport with Gilda, which I appreciated.

“Of course you go and make the only woman among them the _maid._ Jeez, Alex… that’s totally sexist even if it is all a big ruse,” she said to me later.

“I apologize Mistress. I’m afraid I’m a bit old fashioned in that way. You should be comforted by the fact that at first Miss Shapiro also balked at the idea for the very same reasons, but when she learned what her cut was, she didn’t seem to mind as much.”

They were _all_ to get a very generous cut for their work, which I informed them was to look as legitimate as they could make it.

They were not the manor’s actual gardener, maid and chef, of course – same as before, _I_ did all that – but they were also expected to show up and play their parts if needed, should any officials come calling. They were to report to me two days a week at the manor, to confer on their plans and to provide progress reports.

Uncle Rafael already had a few things in mind when it came to Bellows’ firm, and decided to start with buying out the less-important board members that held shares. He was fairly certain that Gilda’s father had been forced to open up the shares to his board in order to expand the business, and while he still held a generous portion, it was no longer the magic number: fifty-one percent.

I felt confident and happy with this staff. Shapiro and Jacobs reported to Uncle Rafael, who reported to me. These folks were reliable thieves, and yes, there _is_ such a thing. They knew their trades back and forth, and were more than satisfied with their cuts. They were aware they didn’t have to make things happen overnight, so it was likely they would come up with a very solid plan.

I could relax a bit regarding the revenge portion of the contract, and concentrate on the things I could control, like getting closer to my Mistress.

 

+

 

Earlier I mentioned that Gilda is a perfectionist with her music. But one of the more frustrating things for me was that she _wasn’t_ such a stickler when it came to everything else. She may have been particular about me not having complete control over her wardrobe, but she also wasn’t overly-adamant that any of the clothes she wore – either the ones _I_ bought, or her own – looked one hundred percent correct when she wore them. If you had asked her, she would just tell you that regardless of the style, she was a slob with her appearance.

Well, I apologize to the universe, but there is only so much a butler such as myself can take. And _that_ attitude had to go. I may have hated the various styles she enjoyed, but she was _not_ going to wear those clothes with stains and wrinkles, or if it was ill fitting and needed alteration. I could at least control that part.

It was fine. She could pair up her hideous black army boots with the lovely watercolor patterned silk dress I’d gotten, and then put an old wool Peruvian poncho over it if she absolutely had to. However, the boots would be polished, and the holes in the poncho would be repaired. I was not budging on that sort of thing. Fortunately, she liked the improvements I came up with, so that adjustment went well.

However, I have to tell you that she finally succeeded in hurting my demonic feelings.

I told you what a difficult learning process making edible human food had been for me, but I don’t think I mentioned to you what a spectacular cook I became because of it. That is a particularly monumental achievement for me when you realize that I do not eat human food, and therefore I cannot tell whether it has been made correctly or not simply by tasting it. I had to learn through trial and error; for instance, when Ciel would throw something at me, I had a pretty good idea that it was horrible.

In time, I became a very good chef, and in I was particularly excellent at creating sweets. Ciel adored sweets, so I happily put in the extra effort getting better at them. It was thrilling to feel his mood change because I had served him something he loved. Even though he never openly expressed his delight, I could smell the change in him.

But, as to my feelings. Yes, I _do_ have them. Many of them are not the same ones that you have, yet some of them are. Pride being one.

I am good at making sweets, and not just a little good. Were it not for the fact that I am a demon, I could compete with the world’s greatest pâtissier, and would likely win.

One night, after she was up to moving about on her own, with the exception of the stairs, of course, Gilda was in the salon at the piano. Playing. Composing. Talking to herself. Writing, cursing. I tell you, once that girl started working, there was no stopping her.

I’d decided to reward her with a sweet snack.

Mini lemon tarts with toasted marshmallow crème. Not exactly a sock-puller, but it can be difficult to create them properly. After the tarts are baked, and you must _not_ over-bake them, you apply the marshmallow crème with a large pastry tip. You then have to put the tarts under a broiler to achieve just the right amount of browning on the scalloped edges of the crème points. They do not taste _or_ look right, otherwise. However, at this stage, the delicate pastry shells of the tart are susceptible to burning and the lemon custard to liquefying whilst they are under the broiler. One must be diligent, as I always am.

They came out beautiful. I made a pot of decaf vanilla-flavored coffee to go with them, grimacing as I did, and presented it all to her with a flourish.

She didn’t even know I was in the room. That damn pencil was in and out of her mouth six times, as she pecked away at the piano keys and scribbled furiously on her staff paper in tandem.

“Miss Gilda?” _nothing._ “Miss, I have brought you a sweet,” I started, attempting a compromise. “It may help you to think while you compose?”

“Uh,” she started, half looking at me and half looking at her sheets of staff paper. “just set it there on the…” she almost finished, then wrote something down in a rage and plunked it out on the piano.

I sulked back to the kitchen to clean everything up. When I came back into the salon later, she had gone. The coffee was half gone, but the tarts had gone untouched. Defeated, I put them in the icebox. The next day, I served them to the fake staff, and between Evelyn Shapiro and Michael Jacobs, they were gone in fifteen minutes. At least _someone_ appreciated my hard work.

I tried again a few days later, with an Italian almond-anise sponge cake, covered in a dark chocolate ganache, with a touch of smooth raspberry purée drizzled on top in a pretty zig-zag pattern. A very fetching dessert, and full of complex flavors. My ganache is especially nice, having perfected it over many decades, and I know exactly how to balance just the right amount of anise with my almond.

This time, she had the gall to _wave_ me away.

Fortune Fernandez’s Uncle Rafael was a big fan of Italian cuisine, to the point where he made lunch for all of us occasionally when the entire staff was assembled. He specialized in pasta dishes, which was something I had very little interest in. He was insistent when the mood struck, and all I could do was get out of his way and clean up the disaster he left in the kitchen when he was done. He loved Italian desserts especially, but had no clue how to create a sweet. So when he smelled the anise of the sponge cake, he followed the scent into the kitchen. After he found the cake in its glass storage container, he ate half of it with a large spoon while still standing at the counter.

Rafael Fernandez is a shrewd and reliable person regarding what I need him for, and he loves Gilda like a surrogate father, but the man has slightly unpleasant table manners.

In any case, I gave her one last chance, hoping the aroma of a _warm_ dessert would pull her attention away from that damn piano and back on to _me._ Yes, I know I was being silly. It’d come to that; I was jealous of a damn musical instrument.

Warm sweetbread blueberry cobbler drenched with cold, fresh cream sweetened with just the right amount of vanilla and sugar. This dish must be served _promptly_. You spoon a generous serving of warm cobbler into a bowl and pour the cold, sweetened cream over it in front of the recipient, and _voilà!_ Instant orgasm in their mouths – that is, _if_ the plebeians have at least an iota of good taste.

But no, I was dashed, yet again.

“Alex, I’m working here. _Please._ I’ll eat something later.”

I didn’t bother saving it for the fake staff to devour. That particular dish simply isn’t right as a common leftover. _It must be served fresh._ I dumped the cobbler in the trash and almost felt like crying at the loss, except, you see, I do not cry.

After that, I became slightly depressed. I stopped making her sweets and didn’t interrupt her while she was working. What was the point?

A few days later, Gilda was at work in the salon again, when I found a lovely cut of beef in the back of the icebox that needed to be dealt with. I was nearly done preparing a batch of boeuf bourguignon which I was planning to serve for supper in a few hours, when the music and the cursing and the mumbling came to a sudden halt. I was just about to go into the salon to check on her, but the swinging door to the kitchen opened and there stood my Mistress with stars in her dark eyes.

“My God, what are you making?”

_“Why?”_ I asked impolitely, and a little bit suspicious. I admit that I was also still quite hurt.

“It smells _so_ good! What is it? Jesus, is that _bacon?!”_

She limped up to the stove and inhaled deeply. Before she came in, I had just competed the last step of adding the wine and other liquids to the beef, and had brought it to a simmer on the stovetop. The casserole dish was now in the oven for the long haul.

“It is Boeuf Bourguignon, Mistress.”

“Holy cow. No, I mean _really._ Is it done?” she asked, full of hope.

“No, Miss; one hour and forty-nine minutes more to go,” I said, feeling hopeful again. She whined slightly, but said she could hardly wait to taste it.

Unable to go back to her composing, she planted herself at the kitchen table and chatted with me while I worked until the dish was done. I was fairly sure she had done it just to stay close to the aroma with which she was so enamored, but to be honest, she was very charming and she reminded me that the Gilda Franks I had met those years previous was still with us. I admit it was nice to just talk with her, and I learned a few more things about her past.

It turns out that Gilda had been raised on ‘TV’ dinners and fast food. Her mother, as I should have expected, had not been much into preparing meals for her daughter. When it came to her nourishment, the little girl had learned to fend for herself. But with so much of her energy being poured into her one passion, the piano, she never had the time to learn how to cook properly. Hence the atrocious pre-made dinners, and even those had not been steady. Some days there had been no food at all.

Later, during dinner, I was treated to so many moans of pleasure as she chewed, I wasn’t entirely sure if she _hadn’t_ had an orgasm at the dining room table. It was simple: my new Mistress simply didn’t care for sweets.

Although I’d prepared all of her meals for her since we’d contracted, she hadn’t gotten so worked up over anything I’d made, not like _that_ , not until celebrated Chef Julia Child’s Boeuf Bourguignon hit her plate. The next morning I tried Hash Brown Potatoes with onions and garlic, Eggs Benedict, and a fresh bagel with light cream cheese and kiwi slices. Lo and behold, she was on her way down to the dining room before I could make it up the stairs with the tray.

I insisted she get back in bed and was never to do that again. Breakfast (unless eaten with guests) was a dish that she’d eat in her comfy bed if it was the last thing I got her to do. I pointed to the traditions of the wealthy as my argument, but the fact is… Well, I _adore_ my mornings. Waking the prey up, watching their sweet struggle to abandon the world of dreams, informing them of their daily schedule, and feeding them something delicious and lovingly prepared by yours truly, all before getting down to the business of bathing and dressing.

_My_ morning routine is just as important to me as yours is to you. And I get very cranky when that particular aspect of my buttling is messed with.

Two days later we discovered, together, what remained her favorite supper until the end of our association: Pot Roast with Creamy Mashed Potatoes, Harvest Vegetables, and a green salad. Her reaction to the meat was – oh, my _goodness_. Let’s just say that after the clinging hug, I thought for sure she was going to request a dessert that night. How shall I describe this - the sort of sweet that is consumed on one’s knees? Heh.

She really does have a delightful way of saying thank you when she means it. Bear in mind, I did not give her such rustic and hearty dishes with every meal, most especially lunch, but she quickly came to know the merit of skipping the meat and potatoes and eating the fish and greens in their stead for at least half of the time. She also came to appreciate the fact that I loved to cook, and the more complicated a dish, the more I enjoyed making it. Some were hits, some were misses, but she capitulated and tried each and every plate set before her.

I also wasn’t going to stop making sweets, and to my great delight, she occasionally sampled my wares in that regard. What she did not consume, our new staff eagerly gobbled up. It was an arrangement I could most certainly live with.

She was starved for both affection _and_ a savory, nourishing meal, both of which I could happily provide. Yet another difference between Gilda Franks and Ciel Phantomhive that I probably should have anticipated.

 

+

 

“Ah! _Dammit!”_

I was in the kitchen before Gilda could take another breath. “What did you do?”

“Shit, sorry. I was trying to reassemble these pages. I was gonna cut and paste them into the order I wanted.” She pointed to some staff paper with various musical passages written all over them in her hasty, messy script. “But I stabbed myself with the damn x-acto knife.”

She held up her left hand. It was just a small cut, but it was fairly deep. Glistening red drops of her blood were running down her hand and a few had fallen on the kitchen sink. I stepped forward, unable to stop myself.

Taking her hand in mine, I examined the cut. It would not need stitches, but it was going to bleed for a while. A couple red drops got onto my skin as I held her hand. Instinctively, I lifted my fingers to my nose, inhaled deeply, and closed my eyes.

_So_ wonderful. Rich, bright and _pure_.

When I realized I was getting carried away with myself, I opened my eyes only to find Gilda was staring up at me. Her eyes looked wide, but then she smiled sarcastically.

“Well, at least now I know what to get you for Christmas. Maybe if I find a willing donor–”

“Blood from a stranger will not work. Your blood is…”

When I did not finish, she said “What? My blood is what?”

“Let us stop discussing this, Mistress. It’s unseemly.” I grabbed a clean terrycloth hand towel and wrapped her hand in it, then I turned away from her and began cleaning up the sink. “Keep pressure on it. The bleeding will stop momentarily. Then I will dress it for you.”

“Alex, you know… You can drink it if you want to.”

I froze, dropping the x-acto knife into the sink.

“I mean, what’s already leaked out isn’t gonna crawl back in, right? Do you drink blood? I’ve never seen you eating food, so I just assumed as a demon–”

“ _Mistress_. Do not tempt me.”

She grinned at me. “So… what? This not a big enough portion for you?” she asked, holding up the hand wrapped in the towel.

I closed my eyes.

“You’re telling me you haven’t got enough self-control to stop before you drain me dry?”

“Certainly not! It’s not the amount, it’s the...” I stopped. Why was I supposed to make her understand something I didn’t want her to know about in the first place? “Just believe me when I tell you that I am positively _riddled_ with self-control. But that is not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“The point is, _Mistress,”_ I said with a little venom, “It isn’t polite. I am your butler. I do not depend on you, you depend on me. I shouldn’t cross that line.”

“All right, I get it. But, you should know,” she said, her voice flirty, “I’m clumsy. I hurt myself. I _bleed._ A lot.”

“Then kindly do so where I cannot see.” I turned the hot water on in the sink and squirted some dishwashing liquid into the stream.

“Okay…” she said, perplexed. “Think I’ll go upstairs and take care of this myself.” She hobbled away, and I did not follow her.

Her blood was not her soul, of course. It was _reminiscent_ of it. The actual _flavor_ of it is meaningless; blood is to your soul the same way aromas are to foods. Tastier foods give off better aromas. The potency of this is also affected by your moods the same way food can go cold or stale and the aroma becomes non-existent. Blood tasted during heightened emotional states, such as sex, or _pain_ , is more reminiscent of the soul than otherwise. For a demon that can control their urges, _and most of us cannot,_ blood becomes a way to sample a soul without actually eating it. But this takes enormous amounts self-control when dealing with a rare soul.

Believe me, I can control myself. But as her butler, it would be disgraceful to even ask for such a thing.

It was a dangerous game, being that close to her blood, especially given how long I’d denied myself such pleasures. Gilda had no idea just how hungry I was, and if I had anything to say about it, she would never know until the moment I fed on her.

 

+

 

One day, she did not compose. She just _played_. And I was treated to some of the most wonderful live piano performances I have ever heard.

There was, of course, the ‘holy trinity’ as she liked to call them (which made me chuckle) – that being Beethoven, Mozart and Chopin. Beyond that, Ravel set the tone as I worked and cleaned in the kitchen, Bach accompanied me as I dusted and polished, I used Tchaikovsky and Wagner to time myself as I cleaned the bathrooms in between loads of laundry. I already loved to clean; this just made it all the more enjoyable.

When I got to the salon, she turned to Grieg and Debussy, which were rather more emotional pieces, and I couldn’t help but wonder why she chose those when I was in her sight. Whether or not she intended it, I felt complimented.

While in the salon, I noticed something and managed to get a question in before she began another set.

“Mistress?”

“Hmm?” she asked, sounding dreamy and pleased with herself.

“Where on earth is your sheet music?” The top front panel of her grand piano where the staff paper to her composition normally sits was empty. I expected to see pre-printed sheets there right then, for the famous compositions she was playing. But when I thought about it, I hadn’t seen or heard her shuffling though any sheet music at all that day.

She turned on her polished piano seat to face me. “I don’t always need it.”

“Do you mean to tell me, you have all those marvelous pieces you just played _memorized?”_

“Uh… Well, basically. Yeah.”

“Astounding,” I said, under my breath. Although I am sure she heard me because she giggled.

After a few hours of this amazing treat, I was straightening the upstairs guest rooms (no one had ever used them as of yet, I just did this on routine principle) and I noticed that she’d begun picking out notes, not playing, as though she were working things out. At first I assumed that she had gone back to composing, but something in me was struggling to recognize bits of the tune. Finally it dawned on me! It was not a piano piece at all. It was Felix Mendelssohn's _Violin Concerto in E minor, Opus 64_ , a difficult and exciting composition. And the clever girl was trying to mold and adapt it for playing on the piano.

I knew this piece. I often _played_ this piece.

“Perhaps I can help you with that,” I said, standing before her with my violin in my hands.

She looked up, startled at my sudden appearance, then became even more so – making her adorable “o” face – when she saw I held not just a violin, but a Stradivarius.

Yes. _I have one_. I believe the expression is ‘nanee-nanee boo-boo’? Telling the tale as to how I came to possess one would make you even more jealous.

“Good gravy, is that…?”

“Yes, Miss. It is.” She swallowed hard, gazing at the violin. I smirked, and my voice became playful. “Would you like to touch my instrument?”

She flushed, but got over it quickly. “Ha, ha. Very funny. You’re telling me that’s been in the house all this time?”

“Indeed. It is spelled to travel with me to each contract.”

She nodded. “And you can play a bit?”

I smirked again. “A bit, yes.”

“All right then, Alex. I assume you know this piece, and what I’m trying to do with it?”

Positioning myself askew of the piano so that we could watch each other easier, I proceeded to play the first few measures of the piece. She sat in silence when I was done. Without another word, she played a different section, then cocked an eyebrow, expecting me to repeat it. I did so.

She played it again, this time trying to emulate the nuances of my violin within the restrictions of her piano’s. Three, four times we repeated this process, and with each time she became more confident until she would move on to another part of the piece, and we’d tackled it again.

Not a word was spoken between us, but there were a lot of heated stares. On both our parts.

By the time we got to playing out the entire piece simultaneously, I felt as though she was undressing me with her eyes, which was very pleasant. It appears Gilda was just as aroused by my talent as I was with hers. We continued on like that for a bit, and she began challenging me by altering the piece to be more piano-like, or less violin-like, however you want to put it, and for me to follow her lead instead of the other way around. One thing after another she changed, creating more and better arrangements on the fly as it were, and I had to struggle to keep up.

No wonder she was so obsessed with music. She was a genius. When we finally stopped, she took her hands from the keys and placed them on her thighs. I strode around behind the piano and set my expensive violin down, very carefully, on an oak lamp table. Gilda swung her legs over the highly polished surface of the stationary bench to face me.

“Wow. That was fun. You _can_ play a bit.”

I put a gloved finger to my lips and smiled. “Would you like to do something else that is fun, Miss?” She blushed and looked down. I approached her. She smiled up at me seductively as I got closer, as though she knew what was coming. “You are irresistible when you compete with me like that, Mistress.”

“Well, you’re pretty damn good on that fiddle, Alex,” she smirked. “But how irresistible am I?”

_Joy._ It was time to kiss my prey again!

I removed my gloves with my teeth and tossed them aside, old habits dying hard, you see. She had watched this very carefully, and her eyes grew dark with interest.

Gently, I placed my bare hands on her upper arms and lifted her to her feet, pulling her a few steps away from the piano bench. I was not planning some little peck on her forehead. I wanted her away from her beloved instrument so that she could concentrate on _me_.

I leaned in close. Taking her face in my hands, I captured her lips in mine. There was no resistance on her part, for once, and I took advantage of that. I didn’t get all ‘grabby’, if that’s what you are assuming. I don’t work that way. There is an art to everything, and seduction is certainly no exception.

I pushed my hands back further into her hair and tilted her head to get better access. Ever so slowly I coaxed her lips into dancing with mine. I opened my mouth, just slightly, and she followed willingly.

Everything felt so slick and _alive_. Goodness gracious, how I love kissing!

Our tongues touched briefly, and the kiss grew more erotic. It had been a very long time since I had kissed anyone like that; not since Louis DeBrena. But even with him it hadn’t been this good, because he did not have Gilda’s soul.

My tongue slid softly against Gilda’s and I felt her shiver. I grew hard yet again, but at last I had the satisfaction of sensing her own desires rising alongside mine.

I broke the kiss, then tilted my head again to get at her delicious mouth from another angle, and I kissed her just as thoroughly a second time. She breathed with me as our mouths tangled. When I finally released her lips, we were both smiling, and she sighed, long and satisfied.

I hadn’t expected to have sex with her this soon, but if she was ready for me, I was not going to disappoint. If my Pot Roast had been any indication, she was receptive to the idea, at least. But once again I should have realized which of my many attractive features trumped the other; in this case, music won out over food.

_No matter_ , I thought, looking down into her dark eyes, _because she wants me now_. I slid one hand to her lower back and looked down at her with a lust in my eyes that I could no longer conceal, then I pushed my hips against hers – just a light brush. Never overbearing. Just enough to let her know that I was as eager to play with her body as she was with mine.

“Oh dear…” Gilda said, smiling as she leaned against me, looking up at me with such beautiful want on her face, sliding her palms down my shirt to the belt of my trousers.

_And away we go!_

Ah…

You know, it still pains me to think about this. It’s quite embarrassing. Simply put, _I do not like being had_. Not by another demon, or a damn Reaper, and _especially_ not by some human. Not even one who smells as sweet as she does.

To my horror, Gilda’s right hand dipped lower and… pat the front of my bulging trousers like it was the top of a child’s head. One that had misbehaved.

She tsk-tsked, shaking her head back and forth. “Why don’t you get a _hold_ of yourself, Demon,” she scolded. “I mean, like, _literally_ , ‘cause I’m not gonna do it for you.”

She smiled sarcastically. Abruptly extracting herself from my arms, she turned away. Humming a pleasant tune and limping off on her bad leg, she left me standing alone in the salon, hands full of air and pants full of want.

I clenched my teeth, intentionally holding my temper in check. Walking towards the French doors of the salon that led to the outside, I let myself out. I strode towards the heavily shaded sunken garden, found the dark, shallow wishing pool in the middle, and sat down in it.

By the time I cooled off and climbed out, there was steam curling off the black surface of the water. All the lovely Koi – hand picked by yours truly to go with her precious goddamn Japanese Maples – were dead. They were _cooked through_ I tell you, and had floated to the top.

Damn it all. Yet _another_ thing I had to clean up and replace. I had half a mind to toss some of their prettier corpses onto a platter and serve them for dinner – _as is_.

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

+

 

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 6**

 

 

+

 

Although her ribs were healing nicely, and the cuts on her lips were nearly gone, Gilda’s left leg was still an issue.

Ever since I had brought her home, I saw to it that she got a daily massage immediately after each sponge bath, as per her physical therapy requirements. She had finally allowed me to clean her more efficiently during the sponge baths, but I noted that after the incident with the violin she was much more comfortable with me touching her.

Perhaps that is not the correct way of putting it. In point of fact, she was _lording_ it over me. A few days after our impromptu duet, she watched from the salon’s French doors as I released some new koi into the wishing pool. When I came back in and she asked me what had happened, I was forced to tell her the truth. Her ‘guffaws’ were bad enough, but then she had the nerve to tease me about it.

“Jeez, Alex! Temper much? You go off and kill a bunch of harmless fishies just ‘cause I won’t let you fuck my brains out?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I could, literally, do _just that_.

But I was miffed, and I had to get back at her somehow. So I turned up the heat during her leg massage.

I selected a different massage oil this time, not one as prescribed but one from my personal stores. The scent was strong, evocative of musks and flowers, and it was known to stimulate blood flow and cause a warming sensation. I don’t remember exactly which plants it was made from, but Agni, servant to Prince Soma, had introduced me to it after we became friends.

_“This is a very powerful love oil. It puts his highness in the most glorious of moods. Yes, indeed!”_

Love oil. Glorious mood. That was a good start.

After drying her skin off. I put her t-shirt and panties back on her, as she was still insisting to be naked as little as possible in front of me. Taking the bottle of oil in my hand, I poured a teaspoon or so into my palm. Gilda immediately commented on the scent.

“That’s pretty,” she said, gazing up at me and toying with a chunk of her pretty hair like a coy little bitch. “What is it?”

“An ancient blend, known to improve blood flow and… relieve crankiness,” I said.

What? How was that a lie?

“Relieve crankiness?” she quipped. “Very funny.”

I smirked, and got down to business. Distributing the oil from one palm to another, I took her thigh in my hands and gently spread the liquid over her skin. This time, I would give her my undivided attention, putting my all into getting her where I wanted her.

When the oil was distributed properly, I began the deep tissue massaging. My strokes started out soft, knowing it was best to build up to these things. Starting at her knee, I pressed my thumbs into the top of her thigh, and stroked upward very slowly. When my thumbs reached the junction of her hip and thigh, I reversed direction and pressed my fingers into the back of her thigh as I returned downwards to her knee. Over and over, neatly avoiding touching anything above the invisible line of _oh-no-you-don’t-Alex_ as I went. Her skin began to warm under my hands, and she closed her eyes while sighing in bliss.

I had longed for a moment just like this since contracting with her. Her soft sighs were a lovely sound to my demon ears. It was a sound that made me reconsider, if only for a moment, what I was about to do.

_No. She needs to be taught a lesson._

That invisible line beckoned, and with the next upwards stroke, I crossed it. My thumb grazed her hip, and I saw her eyes snap open to stare at the ceiling as I soothed my way back down.

“Alex?”

“Hmm?” I asked, pretending not to notice anything was amiss.

Up, down, and again, gaining no ground, but not relinquishing any, either. Again.

“Never mind,” she said, closing her eyes. She threw an arm over her face, relaxing further.

Up, closer this time. And again. A slight gasp escaped her pretty lips, but she didn’t protest. My thumb grazed across her hipbone, and she trembled as though she had been tickled. The next time I came up, I nudged the edge, _just_ the edge, of her bikini panties. She inhaled a sharp breath.

“Does this feel all right, Miss Gilda?” I asked on the way back down.

For a moment, she was quiet. “God, _yes,_ ” she finally breathed. Her head lolled to the side of her pillow.

I pushed it just a little further the next time. Down again, her thigh was slick, oily and _hot_ under my hands, then up again… each time going further and further until finally I was brushing her sex through the thin cotton panel on the front of her panties with each upward pass. The cotton became damp, and I could feel her flesh beginning to swell, so I kept going. Her eyes clenched shut and she began gripping the sheets under her fingers. I watched her, smug with satisfaction, as she writhed.

“ _Alex,”_ she moaned, torso rising, nipples hardening under her t-shirt. _“Please don’t stop,”_ she begged.

So I did.

“Wha…” she said, sitting up slightly and breathing hard. She opened her eyes to find me wiping the oil off of my hands. I smiled at her sweetly as I tossed the towel aside and rolled my sleeves back down, buttoning the cuffs.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re _leaving?”_

“Yes, to prepare your lunch, Mistress. Your thigh muscles feel _quite_ loose now. Why don’t you take a nice nap?”

I turned on my heel and left her there, hot, bothered and _alone_ , and pointedly closed the door behind me. Poor thing. She either didn’t know or didn’t care that I could hear her angry grunts as she finished herself off while I made her next meal.

 

+

 

“You _have_ washed your hands, yes?” I asked a bit later, lowering a tray onto her lap. She sat up and looked straight ahead, eyes ‘bugging’ out. “Because I am serving _finger_ sandwiches for lunch,” I said, pouring it on thick.

Tease _me,_ will you?

Ah, revenge. Spontaneous, fleeting… but so very sweet.

 

+

 

Around one thirty-six in the a.m., I heard Gilda hobbling out of bed. I assumed it was to use the toilet; her leg was still giving her some pain, but she had been getting around a bit by herself, and frankly she needed the practice doing these things on her own, so I this time left her to it.

To my surprise, however, she made her way down the hall to my private room. I looked up from the papers on my writing desk when she knocked softly on the doorframe. I kept my door – really, _all_ the doors in the manor – open. Even the door to Gilda’s bedroom, and especially at night. There was no need for such strict privacy as our retainers were not live-ins and it was just Gilda and myself most of the time. And, I hoped, it would promote a stronger sense of openness towards me on her part.

“Mistress? Can you not sleep – are you in pain?” I got up immediately and went to her, taking her by the elbow and helping her towards a chair.

“No, no – I’m okay.” She placed a hand on my arm but refused the seat. “But I can’t sleep. I keep hearing something.”

I frowned. What could her human ears possibly notice that mine wouldn’t hear first? Still, it made me tense. “What do you hear, then?”

“It sounds like a gurgle… or a pump. Something pumping water. I don’t remember seeing one, but do we have a sump pump in the basement? It rains a lot this time of year around here.”

“This manor has no need of a _sump pump_ , Miss,” and I said the word as though it were the sludge it eliminated. “I assure you that the basement of this house is fully waterproofed and finished.” The basement was partially exposed with its own doors to the outside property, as the back end of the manor was built onto a hilly slope. However, I had a feeling I knew what she was hearing. And I would have to compliment her on her sharp hearing. “I think you are hearing the pump for the pool in the sub-basement.”

She raised her eyebrows, confused. “We… we have a _pool?_ Really?”

“Yes. Off the main basement is another room, set slightly lower, with a built-in pool.”

“You’re kidding me!” Her eyes lit up so fiercely I thought they may have had an electrical source. “Take me to it, right now!”

I picked up Gilda in my arms, and we carefully tread the stairs down from the first level to the main floor, then from the main floor to the basement. We strode past a collection of arcade-style gaming machines, pool tables, a comfortable sitting area with a sound system and flat screen televisions, then past the bar and across the small dance floor, until we got to a door at the back of the basement.

“I never even saw this door the first time you took me down here,” Gilda murmured. She also hadn’t been in the basement since that day, apparently having no interest in what I had done with the place.

I had thought of festive parties, you see.

“My apologies for neglecting to show you,” I said, honestly. I pushed through the door backwards, leaning on it with my back, and the overhead lights came on as we entered. Her jaw dropped open.

“Your swimming pool, Mistress.”

It was a regulation-sized pool, complete with competitive lanes and a deep end with diving boards. There were also a few round, shallow pools with jet streams connected to the main pool but set off to the side, for the more social sort of swimmer. Setting her to her feet, I turned to the master panel on the wall just inside the door, also connected to the intercom and security system.

I would not spare any expense for either her comfort or enjoyment, but the entire manor was also a secure facility. Gilda was my prize, the first of her kind since Ciel. I was taking _no_ chances with her and this manor was armed, as it were, for bear.

With the flick of a few switches, the jets came on in the social pools, the filtration system kicked in, and all of the underwater lights lit up. The pleasant sound of bubbling water and a bright, safe light filled the room, dancing across my Mistress’ eyes and beckoning her to jump in.

Along the tops of the room just below the ceiling were glass-block windows letting in plenty of light – during the day, anyway – on three sides. Down one long side of the pool was a door to a room marked ‘private’, and two public changing rooms were next to that, one designated for ‘gentlemen’ and one for ‘ladies’.

Again, wonderful parties had been in my thoughts, ones where I could watch my mistress interact with her friends… and more importantly her enemies. She _had_ to have some, being as talented as she was. Since bringing her home, however, I lost hope of that sort of thing ever happening. Perhaps this would change her mind.

“Oh my _gawd!”_ She yelped, and her voice echoed across the water and bounced off the walls. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me we had a pool?”

“Again, I _am_ sorry,” I said, smiling at her happy reaction. What a surprise to see her so enthralled by something other than that damn piano. I hoped, someday, she’d be just as enthralled by _me._ “Given your lukewarm response to the rest of the basement, I didn’t think you’d have any interest, Mistress.”

“What – stupid TV and video games? Are you kidding? There’s no comparison! I _love_ the water. Oh, Alex, it’s not so very late… and I haven’t been swimming in years. Please, can I go in for a bit?” She put on her best begging face, which was rather cute if she only did it for a short time, and clasped her hands together.

An idea struck. One that would possibly kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. And I know she’d enjoy as well if she’d just allow herself to relax.

“Mistress, the hour does not affect me whatsoever, and you yourself do not have to get up early for anything yet. And to tell you the truth, this _would_ be very good therapy for your leg. But,” and I gave her the most sympathetic smile I had in my repertoire of facial expressions, “I have yet to order you any swimwear.”

I wasn’t lying. I truly hadn’t.

“Well, I guess I could swim in my undies.” She wrinkled her nose and I wrinkled my in response. “Yeah, that’s never really comfortable.”

I went in for the kill. Tossing my idea out to her, I quipped, “Why not skinny dip?” She bit her lip, eyeing me. “Well, it’s not like I haven’t already seen you in your altogether.” Now she looked worried. “I’ll tell you what, then. I happen to love a good swim myself. I’ll show you mine since you’ve shown me yours.”

She blushed, and grinned, finally, and I knew that we were going swimming. I went back upstairs to get several clean towels as I hadn’t stocked the changing room with supplies yet. The pool was stocked, of course, with blow-up toys and rafts and cup holders and lawn chairs, but no fresh linens.

I was on my way back down, looking forward to getting naked with my prey, when I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from where I’d left her. Quick as a wink, I was at her side. Apparently while I was gone she took it upon herself to venture into the ladies changing room. She was leaning heavily on a doorjamb, favoring her leg as though she had barely made it there. When she saw me, she climbed into my arms and whined.

“Mistress! What is it? Are you hurt?” I said sternly, ready to tear apart another demon, or worse.

“Sp… Spispi… _spider,”_ she finally got out, climbing higher into my arms and pointing towards the toilets. “And it’s fucking _huge!”_

I had to keep myself from laughing. Setting her down, I told her to stay put, and opened the door to the water closet she had pointed at.

We were in the North Eastern United States, upstate New York to be exact, although what was either _new_ or _Yorkish_ about it, I had no idea. In any case, the forests of these regions had plenty of bugs to go around. Given the manor’s property spanned one hundred and sixty-seven acres, and most of that was forest, there was little doubt we’d eventually see something slightly more exotic than what was commonly found in a suburban American backyard. This was a Cross Spider, a female, and she was heavy with eggs. The white cross on her back stared at me, daring me to do something about it. The insect must have crawled in from the garden outside looking for a place to hide near a water source as she prepared to make hundreds more of herself.

_More of you? Not in **this** manor, my dear._

Gilda probably didn’t like spiders because, well, she was a human girl. I didn’t like them for entirely different reasons. I destroyed the bug in one swipe, obliterating her body and any young inside her to their basic molecules.

“Gone,” I said happily, emerging from the water closet and smiling at my Mistress. “Would you like to tinkle now?”

Tilting her head sarcastically, she said, “ _No_ , I was just poking around.” She cleared her throat. “Alex?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“I have an order for you.”

I smiled excitedly. They were rare.

“Splendid! What is it?”

“I order you to destroy every single insect that is inside this entire house tomorrow, and you are to maintain a general bug-free-ness in it from here on out. Do you understand?”

I bowed low, my hand to my black heart. “Yes, my dear Mistress.”

Oh, thrilling! It wasn’t much, but she’d actually _ordered_ me to do something, _and_ it involved killing!

When I stood back up, she was biting her lip and blushing. Smiling, I picked her up again and carried her to the private room. “This is the changing room for Miss, not the other,” I said pointedly, and she noticed the difference immediately. Those other two rooms were more like what one would find at a public pool. This was a changing room for Gilda’s personal use, one that I had lovingly appointed specifically for her with a phone line, intercom, couch and chairs, and a small kitchen, as well as the expected full bath.

I set her to her feet again, and began to remove her sleeping attire. Her night to pick, so it was a t-shirt and those cute, androgynous panties called ‘boy-shorts’. The t-shirt was too plain for my tastes but I _adored_ her in boy-shorts! She offered no resistance, and was nude before me within moments as though she’d done so a thousand times before. I folded her clothing and set it on a soft chair. When I started to unbutton my black shirt, she came up to me and swatted my hands away.

“Turnabout is fair play, Alexander,” she said quietly, and proceeded to undress me. There were no rude comments, just a small smile playing about her mouth as she fiddled with buttons, sleeves, undershirt. I caught her admiring the smooth plane of my chest muscles for a moment, then she moved on to shoes, socks, belt, zipper, pant legs. When she got to the boxers, she hesitated.

“You’re sure?” she asked softly, looking up into my eyes. “Once we do this you can’t take it back, you know.”

“It’s meaningless,” I said. “It is just a body. I am perfectly comfortable with nudity no matter what form I take. You are the one that has to be sure, Miss Gilda.”

“All right then, here we go,” she said, a nervous smile on her face. I saw her close her eyes as she dragged my silk boxers down. She held them as I stepped out from the legs, freeing me from all clothing. Tossing the boxers onto the pile of my clothes – and I had a strong urge to fold them properly but I ignored it – Gilda stood up and turned to face me. A pretty blush came over her whole body.

“Look all you want, Miss. You own it.”

_For now._

“Alex, _don’t_ ,” she said, smiling fiercely.

To be clear, it isn’t like I walk around trying to impress her by sporting a giant erection all day long. That would be vulgar. But this was new territory for us, and she was reacting pretty much as I had expected her to. It was sensitive ground that needed to be covered if I were to get any further with her sexually, and a naked swim was as good a place to start as any. A great place, even.

Gilda blushed harder and closed her eyes. I walked up to her and put a finger under her chin, making physical contact without asking permission. I knew she found me attractive, I could smell it growing stronger on her day by day, but now was not the time. When she opened her eyes and looked up at me, I simply said, “Let’s go for a swim.”

I carried her to the shallow end and descended the stairs. Even though I introduced her to the water slowly, she still gasped at the coolness once it hit her.

“Too cold?” I asked. “I can adjust that.”

“Not right now. I’ll get used to it. But I’d like it warmer next time, if you can.”

“You can have anything you want, Miss. Do you plan to swim often?”

“You bet,” she said, grinning.

“Then we need to see what you leg can do. Do you swim laps?”

“I can, sure. Let me try.”

I set her free in the five-foot depth, and she gripped the wall. Positioning herself, she pushed off and swam away from me to cross the width of the pool one time. I walked in tandem behind her, ready to support her if need be. She did so well I expected her to push off from the wall and keep going, but she stopped.

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit,” she said, wiping the water from her face and pushing her hair behind her ears. “But not enough to stop. I need to work the muscle.”

She did five more laps, stopping between each at the pool’s edge, until she said her thigh was throbbing a bit and she had to stop. Her swimming was very good; just the standard breaststroke, of course, no ‘butterfly’ or anything fancy, but she was strong and consistent and could save herself from drowning if need be.

“No more laps tonight, you just relax a bit.” I moved closer to her, and bade her hold on to the edge while I massaged the thigh under the water. “You’re doing very well, you know,” I said quietly, close to her ear. “This leg will be better in no time.” The muscle eventually relaxed, and so did she. I smiled, pulling her away from the edge by her hands and wrapped them around my neck.

“Let’s go to the center and play a game.”

At the five-foot depth, she stood on her own with her head just out of the water. I had her close her eyes and listen to where I was in the pool. After silence ensued, she had to guess and swim to me, not opening her eyes. She got it right less than half the time – I confess gave her plenty of false hints. I am quite sneaky, and able to swim great lengths underwater, having no actual need to breathe (although I do it to make you humans more comfortable), and at speeds you cannot possibly achieve.

When I searched for her, of course I always found her.

Once last time I waited under a diving board in the deep end, and she had stopped and opened her eyes while still in the lanes. “That isn’t fair,” she whined, turning to face me and trying not to giggle. “You’ve got super-senses. I can’t compete with that.” I swam up to her, and when I got close enough, she placed her hands on my shoulders.

“Ah, but I never said I would play fair, Miss. I only promised not to lie.”

She feigned pouting, and I narrowed my eyes at her. Sighing, she put her head on my chest and draped her arms around my neck, allowing me to spin her about in the refreshing water.

This was good. Naked or not, she was _enjoying_ being close to me. Her skin was slick and warm under the water, and I took advantage of our positions, running a palm over her smooth back. I have to confess to you here and now that I cannot get enough of her back, it is absolutely addictive, from her neck to her shoulder blades to the bumps on her spine. It is very difficult for me to keep from entering her room at night just to remove her top and stroke the skin there with my bare hands while she sleeps. As a demon, I could do it, you know, without waking her. But I am her butler. So until I am invited, or _ordered_ …

I pulled her in against me and encouraged her to hold on tighter. She complied – _good girl_ – and I swam backwards leisurely almost the entire length of the pool while she lay against me. “This is nice,” she finally said, and I could not argue the point. “The water feels good.”

That wasn’t the only thing that felt good. She, however, seemed absolutely unconcerned that we were naked, and that my genitals were making the occasional contact with her body.

I had to keep reminding myself about certain facts. One was that I enjoyed intimate relations with humans, very _very_ much, but while under contract, sex was basically a tool for me to get my way. Experiencing an orgasm was lovely now and then, but to be honest, I didn’t do much of it. When intimate with my prey I tend to concentrate on _their_ pleasure, because the bliss I instill in them makes their scent blossom. If I can keep their attachment to me strong until the end, it produces a juicier meal.

I wanted very much to use sex as a ‘weapon’ with this prey – that sounds quite mean, actually – but sexually, Gilda was far more complicated than Loius, or any of the other humans I’d been with before her.

I do not count Ciel here, because we are discussing sex. I never had the pleasure of being with him. I would not have been his first sexual experience, but I would have been the first to take him gently, and with a good measure of affection. I regret that I failed to give him that.

Now lingering about in the deep end, she finally spoke. “I’m sorry I was so weird in the changing room.”

I smiled at her. “Nonsense. All new things take getting used to.”

“You didn’t have to get used to _my_ naked body.” She shifted in the water so that she could face me as we spoke.

“Ah, but I am your butler Miss. And a demon. While my employ with you demands that I not be affected by such things, my true nature guarantees it.”

“Well… whatever you are, you’re kinda beautiful. So I didn’t want to stare.”

How thoughtful. And unnecessary.

I stopped myself from reiterating that she had the right to stare all she liked. Rushing Gilda was going to get me nowhere, and she had finally taken another step forward with me. Tonight was not about sex. Intimacy, yes, but not sex. I put any salacious thoughts from my mind and concentrated on the moment.

After awhile I got out, leaving her treading as she held securely onto a ladder. If she had watched me walking around naked, I wasn’t going to embarrass her about it. I grabbed a few retrievable objects and tossed a floating lawn chair into the deep end where she waited for me. Getting back in, I played lifeguard on the chair, while Gilda swam like a fish and retrieved the objects from the bottom as I tossed them into the pool.

I had no doubt she was going to be sore as hell the next day. No matter; she’d simply need a longer, more thorough massage, and I would _happily_ provide that. I’d force Gilda out of the pool later, when her fingers had sufficiently pruned, but for now I crossed my legs and relaxed, watching my little water baby play about.

 

+

 

Two steps forward, one step back, as your kind says.

Two days later, late in the morning, I came upon her making a racket in her bedroom – on her knees, her sweet rear end jutting up as she rummaged through one of her closets, pulling things out and tossing them aside as she desperately searched for something.

_I am going to have to clean all that up._

Sighing, I entered the room. “Mistress, what on earth are you looking for?”

Her head popped out of the closet, and the expression on her face reminded me of a mouse being caught by a cat. Quite appropriate, actually.

“There was a box… A box I had in here. Did you move it?” She sounded angry. And guilty.

Of course, I knew what she was talking about. _May as well get this over with._

“Are you referring to those items you bought off the internet last week? The lock box, and that sexual appliance – a _‘life-like silicone dildo’_ I believe was the terminology that was listed on the receipt – and some water-based lubricant?”

“Oh God in heaven,” she whined, hiding her face in her hands. “How in the fuck do you know…”

She trailed off, but I continued, confused as to why she was so embarrassed. I thought we were past all of that. “Once I broke the lock off, it was simply a matter of opening the lid and looking inside. I threw it all away–”

“ _What?!_ You had no right to do that! That was _private,”_ she said, gritting her teeth.

“I assure you, Miss, there is absolutely nothing you can keep private from me.”

Her mouth – the ‘o’ – ah, lovely. It would be so easy to–

“Why did you throw it away? It was mine!” She stood up and walked over to me.

“You have no need of such things. Not anymore.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I know that you masturbate. I know _when_ you touch yourself. You close your door and ask for privacy, but I can smell it, and I can hear it. Obviously, since you have purchased a sex appliance, you have a need for something more satisfying than what your hands alone can provide. You do not need fake a penis to achieve that. I tell you once again that as your butler, I will gladly provide–”

“Stop oh my gawd just _stop_!” she screamed.

My goodness, what a little brat. She had interrupted me twice already. I _despised_ being interrupted. If she did that a third time I just may have to spank her.

“Mistress, I do not understand your difficulty with this. I’ve kissed you, passionately, so you know I am good at that.” I conveniently left out the fact that she was just as good at it as I was. “You were on the verge of an orgasm the other morning during your leg massage.” Also conveniently leaving out the fact that I completely manipulated her that time, and then left her to her own devices before properly finishing her off. “And our little adventure swimming naked in the pool together provided you with plenty of visual evidence that I am _more_ than properly equipped to–”

“Gaaaaah!” she screamed, clamping her hands over her ears. “Get out get out get out I order you to get _out! Jesus Christ!”_ She clenched her eyes shut, and pointed at the door, so I left.

I am _never_ going to understand your species.

 

+

 

Later that day, Gilda received a phone call on her new ‘cell’ phone from a woman named Nancy Sorenson. My Mistress was at work in the salon at the time, quite embroiled in her composition as a matter of fact, and I was not going to tolerate an interruption when she was making such headway. I took a message, getting the woman’s phone number. I gave the message to Gilda when she was finished for the day, but before I handed it over, I looked up the woman on the internet.

There was precious little information, save that she lived in Boston, Massachusetts, and from what I could tell, in a small apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood. The staff had reported in that day, and I took Uncle Rafael aside and inquired about this Nancy Sorenson with him, but he had no idea. Concerned, he asked if he should ask Fortunado about it, but I told him to wait until I had more information.

Gilda took the message, intentionally not looking at me or saying much about it. All I got was a curt response.

“You can let my cell phone calls go into my voice mail when I don’t answer them, all right, Alex?”

_My demonic ass I would._

And yet, propriety forced me to ask:

“Is that an order, Miss?”

She paused before sipping her soup.

“It’s an order, demon.”

“Yes, Mistress, as you wish.”

_Dammit._

She called the woman later, sneaking outside to use her cell phone in the garden. Of course, since she went so far out of her way to keep it from me, I simply _had_ to listen. Perched in a tree above her, I heard her keep the conversation very short, asking the woman not to call her cell again, and promising she’d call her next week when she was back in school and could talk more freely. She ended the call and that was it.

I could not let this go. There was her _safety_ to consider. We got into another row over it, unfortunately.

I finally pressed her later that night, after her sponge bath, pain pill and hair drying. She was sitting on her bed, with me kneeling behind her as I combed out her long, lovely locks.

“Leave it alone, Alex.”

“But is she a threat to you? Is that why you are being so quiet about it?”

_“No_. I said quit asking and I _mean_ it. Leave this one alone!”

She was quite brassed off at that point, and not in the same way she had been during our previous spat that morning. Here I thought the dildo thing had bothered her – but my nosing about into this particular subject was bothering her much more.

As long as there was no immediate threat from it, I realized however reluctantly that I needed to leave it be. “If I have overstepped my bounds, Mistress,” I said gently, “you have my apologies.” I finished brushing her hair and tied a silk ribbon around it at the base of her neck. “Does Miss have any other needs I can attend to before she retires?”

_“No.”_

She lay down in the middle of the huge bed, turning on her side and giving me her back. The sight of her young body clad in a silk negligee that was clinging to her luscious curves was very provocative – _I get to pick her sleepwear on **my** days as well _ – but her body language was making it clear that she was done with me.

“Very well,” I said, pulling the covers up over her and tucking her in, safe and sound. “Good night, Mistress.” I switched off the bedside lamp and turned to leave. But before I reached the door to her bedroom, she flipped over and called out to me.

I responded immediately. “Yes, Miss Gilda?”

There was a pause, then she said, “I’m sorry I bit your head off.”

I smiled. She really was quite vexing, but in an enticing sort of way.

“Not at all, Mistress. Pleasant dreams.”

 

+

 

It was well past midnight when I was pretending to get some paperwork done, musing about whether or not Gilda was warm enough in that fantastically sexy number she was wearing. I was seriously considering checking on her when I was startled out of my woolgathering. A huge crash that sounded like shattering glass and splintering wood was heard from Gilda’s room. She screamed my name, and I tore down the hall and burst into her bedroom to find–

“You wretched little _whore!_ Bassie’s _mine_ , I tell you!”

A streak of red flew towards her bed, but I flew faster. By the time Grell Sutcliff realized he was standing on her bed and sawing through a feather pillow, it was too late. Gilda stood safely behind me in her flimsy outfit, away from the crazy Reaper of my nightmares.

_“Bitch!”_ he screamed, leaping off the bed towards us.

I growled, and my fangs popped out. I do _not_ like late callers. “Sutcliff, you will leave _immediately_. My Mistress needs her sleep.”

Sensing my extreme anger, Grell backed away slightly, pouting for good measure. Gilda wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled up closer against me, I assumed out of fear. It felt very nice considering how little she was wearing, but it turns out that her real goal had been to lean sideways a bit to get a better look at her attacker.

Grell took one look at Gilda, in her skimpy red nightie, with her shiny red toenails, and her bright red hair ribbon… and gasped.

“She’s… She’s simply _stunning,”_ he whispered, and I honestly thought the pansy was going to faint. I didn’t think the night could get any worse, but then Gilda spoke.

“Omigawd… _Where_ did you get that coat? It’s so _cool!”_

“Oh, darling! Never mind that, I simply _adore_ that negligee!”

I was, needless to say, stunned. She was _not_ making girlfriends with the likes of _him._ No. I would forbid it.

“Geez, Alex, get out of the _way_ already,” Gilda spat, pushing me aside and reaching out, to my abject horror, _towards_ Grell the Gaudy Reaper. “My God, is this _wool?”_ she whispered, gently grasping the lapel of that poor dead woman’s coat. Ciel, wherever he may be, must have been retching.

Grell immediately threw aside his Death Scythe, and began _stroking_ the silk of her tiny garment _._ “Does this come in my size, do you think?”

I flinched. _He was touching my Mistress._

“It’s so soft… And so _red!_ This must have cost you a _fortune,_ ” Gilda gushed.

“You will never know!” Grell screeched, hurting my ears. “When I saw it, I had to have it, but of course I had to wait until it was up for grabs,” he said, waving his hands in the air like a fairy that couldn’t fly. “Then I pounced!”

Yes. _Pounced_. Like flies on fecal matter.

I could feel the bile rising in my throat and the fury rising in my gut. Grell must have felt the demonic change in my mood because he looked past Gilda and focused on me. The giant, stupid grin fell from his face immediately and he swallowed hard. When she noticed his discomfort, Gilda turned back to look at me. Seeing my eyes aglow, she produced a rather unlady-like snort and rolled her eyes.

Turning back to Grell, she said, “Oh, don’t worry about him, he always does that. Let’s go grab some junk food and look at my latest catalog – there’s a pair of high-heeled lace-up cherry red patent leather boots in there that’d go _perfect_ with this coat. And I’ll buy ‘em for you if you let me borrow it! C’mon!” She tugged on his hand.

Disgusting!

“Only if you let me try on that nightie so I can model it for Bassie!”

_Oh no…_

“Who the fuck is Bassie?” Gilda asked, bewildered.

_Sutcliff keep your damn mouth SHUT for once._

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know!” Grell sing-songed, as Gilda dragged him out of her room, not even bothering to put a robe on over her nightie. The one that _I_ bought her, so that _I_ could slowly peel it off of her some night… teasing her into oblivion.

Well. _Nearly_ into oblivion. That would come later. Heh.

They moved down the stairs together, chattering like teenage girls the entire time. “Oh, Sebas-chan!” He called back to me over his shoulder, “I _like_ this one! I do hope you intend to keep her longer than that little brat!”

“ _Again_ with the name stuff?” Gilda asked, annoyed, which made Grell giggle, high-pitched and annoying. “Alex told me some of his evil supernatural buddies would show up and try to kill me, but I just can’t see it with you. _You’re_ adorable!”

Before I knew it, they had disappeared through the swinging door to the dining room. I stood there at the top of the stairs, fuming, as the door finally stopped moving.

So much for me controlling Gilda in her choice of playmates.

I took a deep breath and counted to ten, and I confess that when I exhaled there was a little bit of smoke coming out of my nostrils. Then I stomped downstairs into the dining room, because there was no way in my version of Hell or anyone else’s that I was going to leave her alone with _him_.

Grell stayed until the wee hours of the morning, their little party eventually moved back upstairs to Gilda’s bedroom, where they tried on every single piece of red clothing she had, from the hideous ‘punk’ things Gilda had bought for herself without my consultation, to the expensive, designer things _I_ had painstakingly selected to go with her hair, coloring and body type. Neither Gilda nor Grell seemed disconcerted by the fact that they were undressing in front of each other, let alone _me_.

“Oh, _please,”_ she said, gesturing casually to her now-nude body, “He’s already had his hands all over this!”

“Oh, you _lucky_ girl!”

Unable to watch but determined to remain in the room, I busied myself with cleaning up the mess Sutcliff had made with his grand entrance and fixed the window with inhuman speed. When I turned back to them, I saw they were discarding every article of clothing on the floor like spoiled princesses – creating more work for _me_ , of course.

All of the things Grell tried on would have to be laundered. _Again._ Even Gilda’s precious red panties had the unfortunate fate of directly touching his Reaper body. I will not soon forget the sight of Grell Sutcliff standing before me in women’s red satin bikini panties, crotch fairly bulging with unfamiliar contents, little bows on the sides jutting out over his thin male hip bones, with him happily screeching _‘does this make me look fat?’_

Those, I planned to incinerate.

At the very least, I was grateful that the subject of my former name was not brought up again, lest I, or God forbid, _Grell Sutcliff_ reveal details about my past contracts to my current prey. I tried to pick up after them as they barreled on, but I tell you now… giddy girls on a mission to plow through a closet’s contents are damn hard to keep up with.

When I could no longer take it, I insisted that the red bitch be on his way, as my Mistress was technically still recovering from her wounds and needed her sleep. Ignoring her protestations, I stuffed Grell’s naked being back into his stolen coat and balled up the clothes he came in with into his hands. Then I yanked him out of Gilda’s room by his red collar and dragged him down the long staircase. When I got to the manor’s front doors, I tossed him out on his tacky backside to the drive below, his clothes flying everywhere.

“But Sebas-chan!” he cried, wallowing half-nude on the pebbles. I loomed over him on the front porch, in a manner that at least _I_ thought was dark and threatening… but the idiot simply went on with his tantrum. “We hadn’t even gotten to Gillie’s _shoes_ yet!”

“Now you listen to me, you menace. Obviously my Mistress has taken a liking to you. While I cannot seem to do anything about that _now,_ it is clear to me that you intend to call again. That being said, I will not be able to stop your,” here, I sneered, “ _friendship_ from progressing, but I insist that if you want to see Miss Gilda in future you _make an appointment first!”_

“Oh, _Bassie!”_ he whined, and proceeded to start crying. It just made me hate him all the more.

“My _name_ , you filthy pervert, is _Alexander.”_

The last thing I saw was a grotesque, petulant pout on his face as I slammed the doors shut, locking them for good measure. I thought it not possible for a demon, but right then I had a terrible headache.

I stood at the front window and watched as he gathered up his clothes and put them back on, slowly, dejectedly, _sniveling_ like a baby the entire time. When I felt confident that he had finally left, I stomped up the stairs to Gilda’s bedroom.

Well. So much for establishing good bedtime routines. Gilda had already decided to pass out on her lavish bed, sans a second sponge bath and hair combing to get his stink off of her person. Yes, Sutcliff managed to see that even _that_ small pleasure was robbed from me. I sighed, getting her under the covers lest she catch a chill, and silently cleaned up her room before leaving her for the night.

Grell didn’t show up again for some time, thankfully. But unfortunately he and Gilda had bonded. When the ridiculous boots she had ordered for him arrived, along with a clunky pair of penny loafers in the same awful shade for her own use, she ordered me to contact him so that she could, and I quote, “ _Give her a present. We’re like BGFFs Alex’,_ she’d said, whatever the hell that meant, _‘and you **will** be polite to her.’_

Yes, you heard correctly. Gilda took to calling Grell a ‘ _her’._ Gods…

Dreading the day of his return, I put it off for as long as I could. And when Grell Sutcliff did show up, I insisted that his superior William T. Spears escort him.

While Grell simply irritates me, I do not like William, as he despises demons in general and we have come to blows in the past. I find him dangerous. But he is an efficient and rule-abiding Reaper, well-mannered and concerned with the ethics of his profession – very much so like myself in that regard. I must say, however, that he did seem slightly distracted that evening, glancing at Gilda frequently. I guess even Reapers are susceptible to the charms of a pretty woman.

In any case, with the both of us playing chaperone, we managed to keep the let’s-try-on-my-shoes party to a short, if only slightly annoying visit.

It was troubling, I tell you. I didn’t relish having lost as much control over Gilda as I already had, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it either. She was a headstrong young woman. I added her friendship with Grell Sutcliff to the swiftly growing list of things that were eating away at me with regard to this contract.

 

+

 

Ahh… _bath time._ Finally.

A speck of dirt would be noticeable to my demon eyes, even a molecule of foreign substance was easy for me to smell on my most delicious prey. It did not belong on her person, I did not want it there, and that is the number one reason why I looked forward to bath time with the souls I contract with.

Even though she had clearly enjoyed our swim a few nights previous, I had been reluctant to rush her past the ease and gentleness (and the unique brand of intimacy) of her sponge baths to the coordination of getting her in and out of a tub. But now her leg was finally up to the challenge. We graduated to the real thing – a large cast iron number I had been fantasizing about since the day it had arrived at her door.

After a tentative few moments actually getting her into the tub, she was now steeped to her collarbone in hot, soapy water. It had to have felt nice soaking like that instead of being sponged off, especially after being laid up all this time. And I was, of course, fully prepared to take advantage of her ebbing fatigue.

For the most part she let me scrub to my heart’s content, relaxing into my ministrations while I hummed and sponged the day’s dirt from her skin. Not a peep escaped her lips as I cleansed, stroked and soothed her back, knees, ankles, neck, breasts, nipples… It was delightful just to touch all that wonderful flesh and I made sure to use my hands as well as the sponge.

Oh, my lovely prey. The cleaner I keep them, the happier they are, and the tastier the final meal…

I honestly hadn’t been thinking of anything at all untoward, I was just progressing as I saw fit, when Gilda suddenly stopped me. Slender, talented fingers that belied their own strength were suddenly around my wrist, fiercely halting my hand from scrubbing any lower on her tummy than I already had. I stopped, my face inches from hers, and didn’t need to fake the look of confusion I wore.

“Mistress? Is there something the matter?” I tried to keep my tone neutral, but to be honest she had truly caught me off guard. Up until that point I had no reason to believe that she’d ever want me to stop.

Gilda smirked at me then, pulling my hand from under the water level and removing the soft sponge from my grasp. “I’ll take it from here, Alex.”

I smirked back at her. Two could play at that game.

“Is that an _order_ , Miss?”

I leaned my forearms on the edge of the tub and eyed her playfully. Warm, soapy drops of water fell from my black fingernails to the surface of the bath water, and it was the only sound we could hear.

“I know what you’re playing at, Demon,” she finally muttered. “For _some_ things, you should be mindful of getting my permission – _before_ you try to do them.”

“I believe I already _have_ your permission to buttle for you, Miss Gilda. That was part of the contract… or have you forgotten?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, just on the shallow side of playful. It was clear to me that we were having another stand off, but this one apparently wasn’t going to involve yelling.

“Oh? And was what you were about to do a part of standard buttling responsibilities?”

“What was I about to do?”

The smile, or what there was of it, fell from her face. “Did you feed me something for dinner that made me stupid?”

I couldn’t help it. I bit my bottom lip. Somehow my Mistress just made me guilty of calling her an idiot.

“That wasn’t what I–” I stopped myself, because saying _that_ would be too much like letting her win. As with Linda Smith, I had to learn new ways to manipulate Gilda. “All right then, Mistress… What was so wrong with what I was about to do?”

“You mean aside from the obvious?”

“Are you referring to keeping you clean? Is that not one of my responsibilities?”

She pursed her lips. I could tell she was getting irritated with me but her blood was getting up again and oh _Gods_ she smelled so exquisite… It made all the headaches she had given me worth it.

“Is that how your previous employers referred to heavy petting? _Keeping them clean?”_

“No,” I said, chuckling quietly, “It’s how _I_ referred to it.”

Incensed, she nodded curtly before saying, “I’ll call you back in when it’s time to dry my hair.”

I stood up and crossed my arms, and I knew my eyes were slightly aglow. “Absolutely not. You are free to finish your bath on your own. But I will remain here until you are ready for me to help you exit the tub.” She looked up at me like she’d swallowed vinegar. “I will gladly turn my back until then, if it pleases my Mistress,” I teased, turning.

“Oh! For fuck’s sake, stop it!” she bellowed, slapping the water’s surface with her hand.

I twisted so that I could look down at her. “Yes, Mistress?” I asked, as sweet as you please.

She refused to look at me, and sounded rather bored when she responded. “I’m aware that I can’t get out of the damn tub on my own yet, demon.” Gilda lifted the sponge from under the water and held it up, indicating I was to continue servicing her.

I stood my ground. Despite how badly I wanted to get my hands back on her, she was going to have to tell me this time.

“So, you want me to… keep you clean, then?”

“Yes.”

“Is that an order?”

_“Yes,”_ she said snidely, and dropped the sponge.

Petulant child. Not really my favorite kind.

Calmly, I turned and got back onto my knees. I let the sponge drift in the water for a moment while I wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and splayed the fingers of the other hand across her collarbone, pushing gently to get her to lay back against the tub so that I could… well, keep her clean.

Now that she knew what was, ah… _coming_ , so to speak… there was no sense in her not relaxing and enjoying it, correct?

Gilda’s hands held on instinctively to my forearm while I settled her into the fragrant water. She looked up at me with a vulnerable expression, and despite the fact that she had just ordered me to touch her again, her face gave me pause.

“Mistress?” I asked, still holding her in place.

“The last time someone went there it was by force,” she said.

Ah, yes. I had forgotten that. Or at least, I thought _she_ had. “I would never _hurt_ you, Miss Gilda,” I said, truly shocked.

“Until it’s time to eat my soul, right?”

I removed my hand from her collarbone and took the sponge again, but I kept my other hand where it was, supporting her neck. “I am your loyal servant, I will do your every bidding, until I fulfill the contract and you give me your soul. And, as I’ve told you, I will be gentle when that happens.”

She bit her lip, thinking a bit before saying, “Alex… You’ve never given me any reason to believe that you wouldn’t be gentle about _everything_ you do to me.” She blushed then, and smiled coyly before adding, “A girl just likes to be asked, first. That’s all.”

I smiled at her. My new Mistress is a very complicated human, but at times she could just be so _simple_.

“Miss Gilda, do you want me to finish cleaning the rest of your body for you?”

“Yes, Alexander. You may proceed,” she giggled, doing her best imitation of my voice, which was in fact fairly horrible.

I still cradled her neck, wanting her to feel secure enough to drift off if she felt like it. When I dunked the sponge back under the water’s surface, I looked her in the eyes, making sure my intentions were quite clear. Gilda smiled and closed her eyes. Her head dipped to the side as she buried her face in the crook of the arm that held her, sighing sweetly. When she reached under the water and gripped the arm that was holding the sponge, this time she used both of her greedy little hands… and it was _not_ to stop me.

I was finally able to hear her cry out my new name in the one way I will _never_ tire of.

By the time I lifted her out of the tub, I dare say she was cleaner than the day she was born, and blissfully boneless. Was she getting things her own way? Or was I letting her _have_ things her own way? Or… was I letting her _think_ she was her having things her own way? It shames me to admit that I couldn’t tell.

I carried her to her bed, where earlier I had laid out some fresh, fluffy white towels, and set about to drying off her body, limb by slackened limb. Gilda remained the drowsy pacifist, gazing up at me as though the sun had decided to rise and set on my very shoulders. I confess that while my hands were busy with my prize, I didn’t care to reason which one of us had won the argument.

 

+

 

It had been a very rocky road, but Gilda’s first day back at school was finally upon us. I made sure the staff, who had all grown to adore her, were there – the fake cook, the fake maid, and the fake gardener, politely lined up at the front door and waiting to see their ‘Mistress’ off for her day.

Gilda skipped out into the drive, nearly leaping off the brick steps onto the pebbles. I bit my tongue as I noticed she had had destroyed the meticulous manicuring of her hair and make-up – it was _my_ meticulous manicuring, damn it all, and on _my_ day of the week to pick her clothes! She wasn’t wearing one stitch of the exceptionally coordinated clothing that I had dressed her in not twenty minutes beforehand. Her hair was now pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there was hastily applied, uneven black eyeliner around her eyes. She wore an old, plain black t-shirt with holes, which should have been in the rag bin three years ago, and it was so threadbare it did absolutely nothing to hide the bounciness of her brassiere-less chest.

_God’s teeth._

On her feet were those hideous fire engine red penny loafers, short white socks and – the only decent piece in the collection – a short plaid skirt with a mix of dark pinks and greens, bright reds and white. Were it not for the garish colors, I would imagine it was rescued from a catholic school girl uniform… save that Gilda had hemmed it up well beyond any accepted high school regulations that _I_ was familiar with.

And of course… that _ghastly_ canvas bag.

I had to remind myself that not everything was going to go my way. Not with this prey. ‘Punk’ she calls this. I clenched my teeth. All right then… Student. Of. The. Arts. _Yes, indeed._

She smiled at them, her fake staff. They smiled back and bowed just for the hell of it, then stood still, as instructed. At least _they_ were following my orders. Gilda skipped up to the limo and came to halt where I stood waiting for her holding the passenger’s door open. She grinned.

“Out of all the uniforms you have worn thus far, Alex, I think I like this one the best,” she said, looking me up and down appreciatively, with a tendency to linger on the shiny boots. I could tell she was already planning to borrow them. _Not if I have anything to say about it, you traitorous little bitch._ When her eyes finally came back up to my face, she smiled, pointing at the hat. “Very nice.” Smiling, I bowed, and then motioned to the empty back seat with my gloved hand. “Very Bauhaus Seme,” she quipped as she threw her nasty canvas bag in ahead of her and unceremoniously dumped herself onto the buffed leather seat.

When I finally sat down in the driver’s seat, I was about to point out that she was mixing cultural metaphors, but then I realized she was absolutely correct. I’d steadfastly refused to update this particular uniform, and wore a version that was popular in the nineteen thirties – the only change being that it was, of course, _all in black_ ; the form-fitting chauffer’s jacket, complete with two angled vertical rows of shiny silver buttons (my _favorite_ part, I’d personally polished each and every one of the night before), the cap, the gloves, and tasteful black jodphurs that tapered at the knee and were tucked into tall black leather boots. It definitely had a stormtrooper-dominatrix-sex appeal feel to it. All it was missing was a riding crop and someone to play spankies with.

And it had enticed my Mistress into earnestly flirting with me, not just for show, which was _very_ good. Straightening my cap, I smirked and turned the engine over.

Gilda remained quiet during the ride to the conservatory, gazing out of the window at the passing scenery as I drove the seventeen miles to her school. It was nice that we weren’t bickering, and chauffer etiquette dictated that the driver was simply not to initiate a conversation with the passenger to begin with. But I wasn’t just her chauffer, I was one _hell_ of a chauffer, and I didn’t like that lost look on my prey’s face. I assumed she was a bit apprehensive after being away from school for so long. She’d catch up in no time, of that I had no doubt, but I was determined to lift her spirits.

“All right then, Mistress. First day back at school!” I announced brightly, pulling up to the curb at the designated drop-off spot for parents and drivers and setting the limo’s gear into park. I smiled at her in the rear-view mirror. “Do you have money for lunch?”

Gilda stopped in the middle of tossing the strap of her bag over her head to look at me, and laughed. “Oh my _gawd,_ Alexander! Lunch money. _Really?”_ She rolled her eyes. “You wanna make sure I’m wearing clean underwear as well?”

I gaped at her in the rear-view mirror. She was smirking at me, and I will confess to you here and now that she was better at wearing that particular expression than anyone else I have ever known, myself the only exception. Miffed, I narrowed my eyes at her, and she giggled. She opened the door and bounded out before I could regain my composure and do my damn job as her damn butler, which was specifically to get out of the damn limo so that I could open and close my Mistress’s damn door for her.

I watched, feeling duped again, as her short plaid skirt bounced away from the vehicle and up the steps of the conservatory. More bouncing. First the tits, now the bum. Bounce, bounce… I tilted my head, mesmerized. And I still don’t know if they _were_ clean or not, but those damn panties were the same garish color as her damn shoes.

When I felt the blood in my human body rushing to my privates _yet again_ , I realized I might finally be in over my head.

 

+

 

“He’s bitten off more than he can chew, this time, I fear.”

“Well… _you’d_ know all about biting off too much, now wouldn’t you?” There was a lilting, nearly indiscernible taunting tone to the second one’s voice that the first one didn’t at all care for. “In any case, you can see for yourself that the deal I am offering is legitimate. Do you want to intervene now?”

After a pause, the first one replied, “No, no. Not just yet. I truly want to see how far he gets with her.”

“He won’t do well with this mark.”

“He’s a very patient demon.”

“She’s a very _impatient_ human. And she’s already expressed her authority over him in ways he didn’t expect. It’s left him flummoxed. Just think of those poor, unfortunate fish. And did you notice how _aroused_ he became after that last–”

“Now, _really._ Must we discuss that sort of thing? It’s uncouth. Can’t you just say ‘she humiliated him’, and leave it at that?”

There was silence for a long time.

“I had no idea you were clinging to such prudish bearings. What a surprise.”

“Oh, sod off.”

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I know nothing about the stock market, and I don’t have the time to be a ‘professional’ author and learn it for the sake of accuracy in this fanfic. It isn’t the focus of this story, and I’m not concerned about the accuracy of what I wrote regarding it.  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

 

+

 

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 7**

 

 

+

 

The American holiday called _Thanksgiving_ was fast approaching. I was looking forward to it immensely! It looked as though our entire staff and a few of their loved ones would be gathering for this traditional feast at Gilda’s manor, as well as Fortunado Fernandez and his Uncle Rafael, and several of Rafael’s ‘goons’. I was happy to hear there would be _goons_ present. With that many people, I needed some help with the security.

Speaking of more people, Gilda herself had personally invited some conservatory students to stay with us for the break, eight of them to be exact _,_ who either had no place to go or could not afford to go home themselves – for an entire week.

 _Goodness_.

I would be decorating the manor for this holiday and the next two, Christmas, or Gilda’s non-commital ‘x-mas’ as she put it, and then New Year’s. She was not a religious woman, but she adored holiday decorating. She informed me that we would do outdoor lighting, and I was to put wreaths and candles everywhere, and that we would have a decorated tree, of course. I asked her what I was to top the tree with, since she said an angel was out of the question. She answered, and I quote, _‘I dunno, Alex, how about a statue of_ _Dionysus_ _?’_ Then she laughed like a harlot and walked off.

I adore my new Mistress.

Hopefully by _x-mas_ I could talk her into a party for New Year’s Eve as well. I am thinking costume ball. Yes, indeed.

I am gleeful, I digress. Back to the task at hand.

Come this November, I would be making a Thanksgiving feast for twenty-one people! I was also put in charge of entertaining and accommodating the conservatory students who were to stay for the entirety of the break.

What a nice gift she has given me. I could finally arrange a pool party, and have legitimate reasons to clean the basement. The students were sure to use the entertainment facilities wasting away down there night after night, not to mention the upstairs guest rooms would _finally_ get appreciated.

 

+

 

Many aspects of our life together fell into place, making for a nice, comfortable routine.

Gilda attends school five days a week. She has a set schedule for the Fall. Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays I pick her up from school at two-thirty, the other two days I wait in the limo at four-fifteen. I am not entirely comfortable with this arrangement, considering she is out of my sight for so many hours, but it appears to be safe. The conservatory takes an old-fashioned approach to the security of their students and is well-guarded as a result.

She will change to another schedule shortly after the holiday break for what will be her last semester. Spring semester will be a bit more relaxed. She will only attend three days a week, and there will be more lab time and fewer classes as she prepares for her three finals. I have no worries that she will come through with flying colors. The conservatory expects her to manage her time effectively during that semester, and _I_ will be supervising her management.

She swims almost every evening, and I insist on watching over her. Yes, I finally did get her some swimwear. While I do not get to enjoy her thrashing about naked in the pool, I still get to change her clothes for this. Throughout the average day, I am now undressing and redressing her four times. Delightful!

I swim with her occasionally, and during those times we get close have a bit of fun. Nothing elaborate, mind you, just touching, or a small peck here and there. She is still running hot and cold on me, and when I do not join her in the pool, my constant vigil seems to get on her nerves. I may have to submit to her wishes – _‘Christ! Leave me alone already!’_ – once again. She is a strong swimmer, and I agree that she could probably do with some personal time that is butler-free, not just while she sleeps.

Although… she isn’t really free of me then, either.

Our staff continues to report in, and they are growing more and more comfortable with us. It seems that our accountant and tax lawyer, Michael Jacobs and Evelyn Shapiro, have same affliction that many people who live and work in the underworld suffer from – they have no relatives that continue to consider them family. I recently caught the two of them kissing on a couch in the library. Ah… love is in the air.

Rafael reported to me that they had bought out all but two of the primary shareholders in Norman Bellows’ firm. They nearly had control over the company. The last two would be bought out either with a healthier offer, or through intimidation. I told Uncle Rafael that if he needed any help with _that_ , I was more than willing to lend a hand. After they embezzled the currency from Bellows’ rather solvent company and moved it to temporary allocations, they would liquidate those investments and launder the money. Once that was done, we’d be left with about nineteen-point-six million dollars, half of which went to the ‘staff’. The rest was Gilda’s, to dole out and distribute as she pleased.

And then, Norman Bellows would be forced to file for bankruptcy. The poor dear. Gilda stated that she wanted to be present for that last board meeting so that she could confront her father. I would make this happen.

The manor was already ‘paid for’, so to speak (that poor real estate agent; I hear he is in a ‘home’ now), and the creditors from my huge shopping spree have not come busting down our door as of yet. When I mentioned this, Uncle Rafael sped up some of the embezzling, and Michael Jacobs laundered enough cash to pay off the various bills that were hanging over our heads. My Miss Gilda was sitting pretty as far as her finances went, even if the throne she sat upon was, technically, stolen property.

And the best thing of all for me? I am free to buttle to my black heart’s content.

 

+

 

I have learned that Gilda does not simply have some differences as compared to Ciel; my new Mistress is in fact fantastically dissimilar from my former Master.

They both faced major tragedies and obstacles in life. She has a sharp tongue, just like his, and neither one would suffer a fool gladly. Very intelligent, both of them. She has an annoying stubborn streak that leads her to become obsessed with whatever task is set before her, just as he did.

And, most importantly of course, their souls – both pure, rare, and delicious.

However…

Ciel was loyal, rational, cynical, strong, and uppity.

Gilda, on the other hand, is amusing, flirtatious, friendly, kind, and a bit naïve.

He _embraced_ his need for vengeance.

She seeks vengeance, but doesn’t appear to even have much of an interest it.

Ciel was interested in gadgets and machinery and industry.

Gilda hates most technology. She doesn’t even know how to drive a car.

He had precious few friends, and he couldn’t stand them.

She has precious few friends, and she cherishes them.

He had no idea how to live without money or servants. He saw his wealth as an integral part of his person.

She has no idea how to live with money and servants. She accepts her poverty.

Ciel talked down to his servants (and just about everyone else) and ridiculed them, even as he was, for the day, an exceptional Master to work for.

Gilda treats everyone like they are equals. While this is compassionate and democratic, it is also preposterous; as far as I have seen there isn’t a soul like her in existence today.

He was arrogant; he _knew_ he had a rare soul, and he acted like it.

She is self-deprecating; she doesn’t think her soul is worth anything at all.

Ciel loved giving me orders. Ones that involved violence or terror while keeping his own hands clean seemed to be quite easy to delve out. He especially enjoyed the ones that made me uncomfortable. (Let’s just say its name was ‘Pluto’.)

As I mentioned before, Gilda _despises_ giving me orders and wants for my comfort as much as I want for hers. I have no idea how to deal with this.

He had a mean streak and he taunted me. I didn’t like it, save that the demon in me found it admirable.

She is playful and likes to tease me, but it’s all for fun… or maybe even a bit more than just _fun_ (I’m getting to that). I sincerely enjoy it, although the demon inside me is disturbed by that fact.

Ciel became technically good on the violin, although his performances lacked any sense of passion whatsoever, and he _hated_ playing it. In fact, he took a dispassionate stance on nearly everything in life, with the exceptions of obtaining his revenge, and, well, _me._

Gilda is a genius on the piano and was apparently born to be a composer. She doesn’t simply love music; it is her life’s blood. She is eager and interested in learning many things, especially things about _me_.

(Oh. Apologies, that last bit was a similarity, in a round-about way.)

He liked to hunt wild animals and then shoot them. He had a fondness for guns.

She has a weakness for nearly all animals and hates violence. She abhors weapons.

Ciel was in desperate need to _not_ be touched (although I still tried). He accepted it when in peril, or when he had the need to be carried due to injuries or fatigue, but he would slap my hand way at any other time. I confess that sometimes I did it just to get on his nerves.

Even as she does not realize it herself, Gilda needs to be touched, and frequently, which I try to do. While the physical challenges regarding that seem to be out of our way, she still has some emotional barriers. She allows me to do whatever I try to do, but sometimes it’s as though she is not _there_ with me while I am doing it. I confess I’ve become obsessed myself – with reaching her. I am determined to get under her skin before I take her into mine.

That brings me to their most notable difference. Gilda wants very much to not need anyone; Ciel constantly claimed he didn’t. But by the end it was obvious that he needed me as much as I needed him. And as far as Gilda goes, that is a ‘want’ I plan to break her of.

It was foolish of me to assume that because they are both worthy of a contract, I could and did try to handle Gilda the same way as I handled Ciel. It was even more foolish that I expected her to behave as he did. Like children, every prey is unique.

What can I say? I was mistaken. Chalk it up to all that glee when I marked her!

 

+

 

Miss Gilda Louise Franks also has a few quirks. Occasionally, when she returns home from her classes at the conservatory, she will either delay or deny me helping her change into a fresh set of clothes for the evening. Then, when I am occupied with some other task such as making her supper, she will slip upstairs and change on her own.

At first, I just assumed she was being stubborn about letting me undress and dress her – oh, she got over her shyness about being naked and touched soon enough; pretty much after our fun in the pool she didn’t seem to _care_ what I saw or what I touched – and if that is her solution, I don’t really like _that_ , either.

However, there is a different motive behind this behavior.

She likes to tease me.

Now, I don’t mean the traditional ‘tease’, as in sexually. I cannot possibly label her whatever term you humans are using these days for someone who taunts, instills desire, and then refuses. I can’t, because the fact of the matter is, we have both been playing with each other in that fashion.

In this, I am talking about her being a _charming_ tease.

When sneaking upstairs to change on her own, Gilda likes to tie her panties, socks or stockings in knots before she puts them in the dirty clothes hamper.

These are not loose knots, either. They are tight, and sometimes intricate. I suppose she is challenging me to get them out without damaging the article, because they would give a mere human fits. But I don’t think she is doing it to be spiteful. She truly doesn’t have a mean bone in her winsome body. I don’t believe that it is to try and agitate me to the point I start yelling at her, either.

She knows that I find the knotted garments while she is away at school. They have become little reminders that while I cannot see her, she’s here, in my life, until this contract between us is finished. It’s nothing, actually, for me to untie them, but the point is I do have to take the extra few seconds to do it.

I can only imagine that she muses over this while at school: _Are you picking up after me right now? I know you are. Thank you. Here, have a knot, Demon. Have two._

It gives me pause, and I find that I enjoy it. Like I said, it’s _charming_.

She also does something similar to this with the tissue she uses to blot her lip makeup. She usually puts on her make-up herself (not always – I do enjoy applying it, and I occasionally ask if I may) and she does so while I am on the main floor getting her things together for school. When done, she lays the tissue out in the most obvious fashion, flat and smooth, with the corners of it aligned neatly to the edge of the vanity, and smack dab in the middle. Such lovely organization. Such marvelous attention to detail.

When I go to clean her bath and bedroom everyday at exactly nine thirty-four a.m., I now find that the first thing I do is to look for that tissue. Such an adorable, provocative shape. It is, in fact, a printed version of the ‘o’ her mouth forms when shocked or surprised, and as you already know I have come to love that about her.

Sometimes it’s just clear or pink gloss, sometimes it’s a shade of red. Occasionally she goes ‘goth’ or ‘punk’ and I will find a black one – and as infrequent and non-traditional as those are, they have become my favorites.

Just as with the knots in the stockings, socks and panties, she _wants_ me to find them.

_See? It’s like I’m giving you a kiss, Alex, a nice, open-mouthed one! Only not quite, because I’m afraid you’re going to have to work a bit harder for the real thing._

Endearing little vixen.

But there is an unspoken rule to this game: she never mentions it, and neither do I. When she comes home, the blot has simply disappeared from her vanity, and her knotted clothing is unknotted, laundered, folded and put away. The next day I find more waiting for me. I have a feeling that were I to ignore or dispose of them, she’d be quite hurt, and were I to bring it up, I’d be declared the loser of this little game we are playing.

In fact, I do not want either of us to bring it up, or I’d be forced to tell her an embarrassing truth. I’m saving the blots, you see, pressing them between wax paper sheets and storing them in a heavy, random tome entitled _The Weapons of Sparta_ in the library. The likelihood that she’d find them in such a place is quite low; most of her reading is artistic in nature.

Yes, all right. I am a Demon who loves cats, and whose hobbies include making decadent, complicated sweets and scrap-booking my Mistress’s used lipstick blots. Seek litigation against me why don’t you.

By far, however, the most interesting quirk of hers is that she occasionally removes her pajamas while sleeping.

Just the tops, mind you. The first time, I only heard her moving about in her room, and went to check on her. I found her shirt on the floor, which was curious, but she was sound asleep. I checked, and sure enough, she didn’t have anything on but a pair of ‘hello kitty’ bikini panties. I covered her back up with the fluffy comforter, and left the room.

_So sweet._

The next night I lit a candelabrum for old time’s sake, and waited patiently at her bedside after she had fallen asleep. It took a few hours, but I wanted to see if I could catch her in the act.

Sure enough, about four hours in, her breathing pattern changed and then it started. She talked a bit, mumbling some nonsense, then flipped onto her back and suddenly sat up in bed. I noted that her skin was glistening a bit and her hair was sticking out at odd angles, so I could only assume that she was too warm… but honestly, I think there is more to this than just that. In any case, she yanked her shirt off and tossed it on the floor, then plopped back down onto her side, snuggling into her pillow. Within seconds she was completely asleep again.

I watched her for three weeks after that night. She did this approximately seventy-two percent of the time. It never even registered with her that I was in the room. Each time, she’d fall back asleep and I’d cover her up. I’d go back to my quarters, delighted with this new behavior. What can I tell you? It’s _adorably_ comical. T-shirts are pulled off with ease, but it gets even more comical when she is trying remove a spaghetti-strapped lacy camisole on the nights I get to pick her sleepwear. One of these days I’m going to get a silk ‘teddy’ for her just to see how she deals with _that_.

The only snag to me watching this, of course, is my obsessive desire to stroke her bare back. There it is, uncovered and right before me; smooth, soft and moist, the subtle bumps of her vertebrae and the fleshy valley above her coccyx, beckoning me – ah… _Lovely_. I have yet to give in. I am sure she’d never realize it, but still. Butler etiquette and all that rot.

My experience with her doing this started shortly after she stopped taking her pain medication at night. When on those, she slept like a rock. But drug-free, she talks in her sleep, and tosses and turns as well. I don’t think she’s even aware she’s doing it. While I enjoy finding her topless in the mornings, I also began to worry that her nighttime activities might eventually lead to sleepwalking. But after a few weeks of watching her closely, there was no evidence of danger. Just the impromptu sleep-stripping.

In the morning I’d open the curtains, letting in the light, and she’d stretch so sweetly. Then suddenly, “Oops, I did it again,” she’d say, blushing. I’d lean over and pick up the abandoned top between two gloved fingers, smirking at her, and she’d shrug. She didn’t even bother trying to cover herself up. I think she was more embarrassed by how it happened than from being naked.

I am fine with it, either way. For one, she is nude, and two, she’s magenta. All over. In any case, the old shirt goes in the hamper and a fresh t-shirt is put on her, as she insists, “just in case I spill my breakfast on my tits.”

Mmmm, yes. I have to stop myself from telling her that I’d simply lick her clean afterwards if she wanted to remain shirtless while eating. Given her pale olive-hued skin and the occasional freckle, a seedless blackberry jelly, I think, would serve perfectly as a nipple garnish.

She finally admitted to me that she’d been taking her top off during sleep since she was a child. She, by admission, ‘runs hot’ and is a ‘restless sleeper’. A human needs her sleep, and restless nights would get in the way of her studies.

I’m going to have to work on that with her. Hands-on therapy, that was the best approach. If not, there was always the jelly!

 

+

 

Fortunado Fernandez came over once or twice a week. He had his own driver as well, but on those days that he rode with Gilda to the manor after school, he would leave with his Uncle in their own limo at night. He swam with her occasionally, or they played board games and read magazines and ate whatever I brought them.

He was a very well-adjusted young man, especially given the hardships he’d gone through with his parents, and I was glad that my Mistress had such a loyal friend. However, when the boy stated that his steady lover had a straight friend that he wanted to ‘fix’ Gilda up with on a date, it was all I could do not to strangle him.

I knew he meant no harm, but Gods… Dating – modern courtship, if you could even _call_ it that – it simply made me ill just to think of her being touched, fondled – or worse _,_ _kissed_ by another.

She agreed, which did nothing to improve my mood.

Later, I received more news, some good and some bad.

Uncle Rafael informed me that they had finished buying out the partners in Norman Bellows’ business. Her father’s share totaled less than forty percent; it seems he had to sell more of it than he originally intended to plump up its value. Rafael and his inside men could now begin manipulating it for bankruptcy.

However, Bellows is a shrewd and highly paranoid person. Rafael was hearing some things from his own people as well as the scabs he had put in place at Bellows’ firm. The man was looking a little too closely at his ‘new’ business partners. He must have had his own snitches, and if he dug hard enough, the paper trail _could_ lead him to Gilda.

Norman Bellows didn’t know Gilda Franks from, I hate to say it, Adam, but I doubt who she actually was to him would make one bit of difference as to whether or not he’d harm her if he thought she had cheated him out of his money. I was not pleased to hear of such a loophole, but Rafael assured me that in today’s age, there was not much one could do to completely cover one’s tracks.

I could tell Rafael wasn’t trying to schmooze me, nor was he lying. He had no reason to, and he was just as concerned about Gilda as I was. His goons were keeping a close watch on Bellows’ goons, and as long as I stayed alert, Gilda would be fine.

I _hate_ potential setbacks, more so than the actual ones. They made me tense.

 

+

 

“So… You wanna check if my underwear is clean, Demon?” Gilda asked, leering at me.

This had become a tradition with her, I’m afraid, after that first day back to school. She always asked, sometimes teasing a bit more than usual. If she knew what sort of imagery went through my mind when she did that, well, she would stop asking. Or perhaps she’d ask me more; I am not really sure.

“ _Language_ , Miss,” I scolded, frowning at her in the mirror. I silently told my crotch to behave itself as well.

She giggled. Perhaps I shouldn’t admit this but, as much as she uses it against me, I _like_ her giggle. It’s rather addictive, actually.

But then her smile fell, and she grew quiet as a group of girls and boys walked past the front of the limo, entirely too close to the vehicle for my comfort. At the lead was a leggy blonde, who tossed a look towards the front windshield that could have frozen a bonfire.

“Oh, great. _Linda Derricott,_ my favorite person in the whole goddamn world.”

I watched as the girl in question stopped in front of the limo, tilted her head, and wore an expression that was reminiscent of a human who had swallowed something nasty. Even with the limo’s one-way glass, this young woman seemed bent on expressing her disdain for my Mistress. Or at least, for the limo.

“Goodness gracious, what a foul disposition for a young lady,” I said, watching with limited interest as she moved on, with what was apparently her very own posse following her obediently. “Why does she look so disgusted?”

“Why? Jeez, Alexander – _look_ at her.”

The young lady was about five feet ten inches tall, had blue eyes and long blonde hair that, despite being nicely coiffed, bore the dull, straw-like pallor of far too many color treatments. She had a very trim figure and was exquisitely dressed, and she walked with an air of authority.

Her appearance may have been high on the scale of some human being’s standard for beauty, but _I_ was distinctly unimpressed. I could tell, even from the limo, that her soul was particularly shallow.

“I am looking,” I said, narrowing my eyes as I watched the arrogant girl bound up the steps with her gaggle of even less-spectacular cretins in tow. “What about her?”

“She’s taller than me, prettier than me, skinnier than me, more sophisticated than me, and her money came from her colonial family, not from her demon butler. She knows I wasn’t raised in a _cultured_ environment,” Gilda waggled her gifted fingers like they had something sticky on them, “and she has made sure to let me know where I stand with her every damn day since our first class together three years ago.”

I frowned. _What a haughty, presumptuous little bitch._ Making my Mistress feel inadequate was _my_ job.

I turned in my seat to face Gilda. “Listen to _me_ , Miss. Your money, when I am done with your father, _will_ be family money. Not that that means much of anything. As to the rest, you are a lovely, extremely talented young woman. You have a soft spot for those less fortunate than you, and a fiercely independent sense of style – regardless of how much I may hate some of your choices. You possess a sarcastic wit, and have a sharp tongue that matches it perfectly. Furthermore, this ‘Linda’ person may be taller and thinner than you, but she is _not_ more attractive.”

Gilda’s look of surprise at my rant was slowly melting into an amused, pleasant smile.

_Good._

“Her appearance may be very well put together, but it is also _common_. Her eyes have no spark to them, and it is not _her_ hair that begs to be touched.”

“Oh my, Demon… aren’t you poetic,” she said, tucking some of those silky strands behind her ear.

“My dear Mistress, there is _nothing_ poetic about the truth,” I replied, smiling at her with a naughty flair. “You complain about your weight as compared to hers, but as far as her body goes, she may be thin but she is also a plank. Your pretty brassieres and adorable panties would slip off of her body from a lack of substance holding them to her, if not from a sudden burst of animated desire to simply be _free_ of her person. Further, she is walking around on chicken legs, but _your_ legs, and I do not need to say this to you because I am sure _you_ realize it as well, are simply fantastic. And I will personally put down a large sum of cold hard cash that boys eventually discover her to be a garden variety tease, or worse, a _dreadful_ lay.”

Gasping incredulously, Gilda ducked her head and covered her mouth as she began to snicker.

“Lastly, and _most_ importantly, I can tell you for a fact that her soul has very little merit, even for the most undiscerning of demons. That alone should be all the proof you need that _you_ are her superior.”

She looked up at me, smiling. “Alex. You’re _such_ an awesome butler.”

“I am aware of this, Miss; now, _you_ say something mean about her.”

“Um…” she began, looking out her window at the group, now loitering at the top of the stairs. “She’s not great at the piano. I happen to know she hates me for that.”

“ _Wonderful_! You shall find a way to rub that in her smug face today, yes?”

She smiled, but gave a doubtful shrug. “I’ll try.”

“No, I’ll not have any _trying_. You must do this. Now, what else?”

“Well… she’s kinda _stupid_. She doesn’t even get good grades in the courses that _don’t_ have her playing an instrument or composing anything.”

I smiled. “There. Don’t you feel better now?”

She nodded. “Yeah, actually, I do. Thanks, Alex.”

“ _There’s_ my good Miss.” I got out of the limo and opened her door. I offered her my gloved hand to help her exit, as any proper chauffer would do.

“Have a _lovely_ day, Mistress,” I said, a tad too loud, and the gaggle looked down at us. “And congratulations on your achievement. I am sure you will make conservatory history!”

“What on _earth_ are you talking about?” she hissed under her breath.

“Just play along,” I whispered encouragingly, then raised my voice again. “Do tell Dean Manners that we are all so very proud of our Young Miss Gilda!”

She managed to get that damn smirk off of her face and nodded at me as though she were unconcerned with my praise. _Perfectly executed._ I bowed at her, the very picture of a loyal, happy servant. Glancing up the stairs, I saw that Linda Derricott was rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, but she didn’t manage to disguise both the intrigue and the jealousy that was coloring her face.

It’s a beautiful moment… that delicious, sweet beginning, when your darling pupil first puts your teachings into practical use.

 

+

 

“Well?”

I admit I was a bit impatient with her. After picking Gilda up, she’d barely gotten herself situated in the back seat of the limo when I demanded to know how she’d handled her enemy. I could not help myself; I was thrilled that she actually _had_ an enemy to work with. I know, I know, there is very little about this contract that involves vengeance or killing or violence. By all rights, I knew that going into it, and to be honest, the terms of Gilda’s contract were simply not as interesting as plotting a course to make her mine sexually.

 _That_ was proving to be very interesting.

That’s my tasty Mistress – kind, affectionate, and (hopefully soon) passionate. But to have a teensy bit of vengeance as a side dish…? Oh, as I said, I just couldn’t help myself. Gilda was one of the most genuinely sweet humans I had ever contracted with, and I wanted to see if she’d actually do something along the lines of ‘paybacks’.

“Well _what?”_ she said around a grin, then screwed off the cap to a bottle of water and took a long gulp.

“Now, now, don’t be coy, Mistress. Did you put Miss Derricott in her place?”

She twisted her lips trying not to smile, and was still looking down. She looked out the window, up the stairs, and suddenly smirked, saying, “What do you think, Demon?”

I turned in my seat to look as well, and there was the skinny blonde in question, coming down the stairs wearing a face that was more sour, if that was even possible, as compared to when I first saw her that morning. She stomped past the limo, again too close for comfort, and halted directly in front of the hood ornament. She focused her gaze on the back seat – bear in mind that she could only assume Gilda was in it, because all of the limo’s windows were made of bullet-proof, one-way glass. Linda Derricott raised her middle finger in a very impolite salute to my Mistress.

“Oh, dear,” I said.

“What a jackass,” Gilda snickered.

As Linda walked off I noticed something. “Has the stuck-up shepherd lost half her flock?”

“Yup,” Gilda said matter-of factly, and smiled smugly. “There was a piano-off in the lab today. I don’t usually go in for that, it’s an underclassmen thing. But that bitch always joins in – as a professional musician, she would suck, but she’s still better than most of the freshmen, so she competes just to try and make them worship her. I tell you Alex, this girl acts like she is still in high school.”

“You played, then? Against her?”

“Yup,” she said again, grinning broadly.

“I am very happy for you, Mistress. I am proud. You did well.” I pulled out of the drive and we began our journey home.

“Ah,” she shrugged, “It wasn’t much. And I’m sure she’ll find a way to get back at me.”

“But she has lost half her group. How did that happen, by the way?”

“Same as it always does with people who think the way she does. Sooner or later the stronger pack members turn on the alpha. Once they saw what a fake she was, the ones that didn’t need her simply left.”

“And _you_ are their alpha now, I take it?”

“Oh, shit no! I have no interest in that. The trick is to not _need_ an alpha.”

I smiled at Gilda in the rear-view mirror. That was a lesson most humans didn’t learn until they were nearing old age. Yet she said it as if it had always been true for her.

After taking another sip of water, she looked out the window at the passing trees. I don’t think she meant for me to hear her, but of course I did when she muttered to herself, “The trick is to not need _anybody_.”

And… there went my happiness.

 

+

 

_‘The trick is to not need **anybody**.’_

Her defense mechanisms are going to make this contract much more difficult.

For one thing, they are extremely well-honed. She was neglected as a child and learned to take care of herself, that much is obvious, but at the same time she has a passionate streak that she keeps strictly guarded. Learning to live with both these things, simultaneously, must have been difficult. I believe this is what hardened her heart to a degree.

But I cannot pretend that I am some Don Quixote romantic savior. I think you know me better than that by now. I _do_ believe in chivalry, and the proper treatment of the softer sex, but I have no plans to become Gilda’s ‘boyfriend’. I want to be her paramour, if only to strengthen the bond between us – to make her want me, need me and perhaps adore me, if only just a little.

I know how vibrant Gilda can be. I got a sense of just how deep her feelings run when we were together in the pool, or while listening to her play in the Salon… and that night in the bathtub. Nothing less than her fullest potential would do for me now.

Think of confident, vengeful, _strong_ Ciel Phantomhive, who _had_ tasted his revenge… and then Claude Faustus made him promptly forget it. His flavor had paled after that. Do not misconstrue me; it wasn’t nearly enough to consider him less than worthy. A pure soul is a pure soul, and they are worth the effort of a contract even as they are also bored to tears. But the higher the emotions run, the more vibrant the flavor. The change in him was enough that my palette noticed the difference, and like an addict, I had to have the greater euphoria… and I ruined everything because of that.

I refuse to fail with Gilda. Not again.

But I’ll never be able to use sex and affection to get what I want unless I start divesting her of her armor, and that could prove to be dangerous. Unwrap too much of it, and she’ll fall in love with me. Yes, _in love_ she’d taste amazing. But Gilda is a smart girl; she’ll figure it out that I cannot return those feelings… and then her heart would break.

If I broke her heart… she’d be equally potent.

But we are not talking about a little crack here. I’d have to follow through and break her completely for the flavor to be robust. Devastate her, cruelly even, for her misery to be complete. I would do it if came down to that. Please don’t think I won’t – I’m famished, remember? After eating her soul, she’d provide exquisite sustenance while she flared like a wretched, unhappy torch the entire time, until she was no more.

The problem is… I don’t want to have to get her _that_ way.

You heard me. I don’t want that, not even a little bit.

I’ve wondered before if I was going soft. And you are probably thinking that right now. _Fuck you._ You try living with an unhappy soul inside of you. That _is_ the very thing that makes us more vicious than we need to be.

Apologies for the language, but you are not a Demon. Don’t pretend that you know what it feels like.

In the end, I am left with the more complicated solution of _affection_. How far do I go? Can I make her _need_ me without falling in love with me? Can I make her sustain that feeling if I can’t avoid it?

I _would_ fulfill the technical aspects of our contract. She would see her father penniless; probably much sooner than anticipated if this ‘staff’ of ours are as good as suspected. By next Spring, she would complete her studies and then our contract will be fulfilled, with the exception of carrying out her last will and testament, and how hard can that be?

Do not misconstrue me. I’d love to take her, right this second even – pull off to the side of the road, climb into the back seat, remove her clothing and tease her, say sweet things to encourage her, stroke her… then thrust into her over and over with my human cock until she is coming her head off and shouting my name, fluid spills on the leather seats be damned.

I _like_ sex. It feels good, even when I am not joining the human in orgasm. But that isn’t going to work with Gilda. She would eventually find that behavior cheap and shallow, or she would see through my plans and become angry, or, worst of all, she’d fall. _Fast_. Too fast for me to cover up the fact that I’m not falling right along with her.

This is the path I have chosen to walk with this prey, so all I can do is be patient. I must mind my temper and quell my lust, both of which are getting more difficult for me with each day that passes. I will take the chance that if I allow Gilda to fall in love with me, _slowly,_ my inability to return those feelings will not hurt her – _diminish_ her – before I could consume her precious soul.

Otherwise… it will have to be ‘heartbreak hotel’ for Gilda.

I can do this. It’s just a matter of timing.

 

+

 

Date night had arrived. I was radiating anger. I was having enough trouble sticking to my grand plan; I didn’t need Gilda messing up more of our time together with things like _other men_ and _dates_ and _romance._

To make matters worse, none other than Grell Sutcliff showed up to help my Mistress get ready for her night out. They picked out various outfits and primped and fawned and manicured and flat-ironed to their heart’s content. I stayed the hell out of that.

Fortunado arrived with both his date and Gilda’s, and they came in for introductions all around. Fortune’s boyfriend was a nice enough lad, extremely handsome but a bit put off by Fortune’s attachment to Gilda. He was even more put off by Grell Sutcliff’s sudden and uninvited interest in his own person.

Gilda’s date, Ben Tomlinson, however, was another matter.

He had that large, slow, sports-fan undeclared-major look to him, and I caught him sizing up Gilda’s body far more often than he actually looked at her face. She had such a _lovely_ face, too – one I did not want _him_ touching. I did my fair share of intimidating the cretin until Gilda put her foot down and announced they were leaving.

As they made their way down the drive towards the front gate, I discovered, to my horror, that I had an erection. Yes, anger can make me that excited. It wasn’t helping my control any that my prey was involved, either. Prey that _I_ wanted to have my way with… yet there she went, off on a romantic encounter with this… this _galoot_ who was probably a ‘C minus’ student from state college.

Grell felt my agitation, no doubt, and he looked me up and down. But before I could deflate my obvious problem, he noticed it, and Sutcliff suddenly had more material to work with when it came to taunting me.

“Good Lord, Bassie! Is that a meat cleaver in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

Gods, that voice. One hundred years later, and it still irritated the piss out of me.

“Do stop that, Reaper,” I growled, watching the vehicle as it reached the gate on the security screen. I opened it after a few beats, just so that all of them in the car realized, _one more time,_ that I was not happy with the situation.

“Sebas-chan,” Grell sing-songed to me, far too close to my ear, “I do believe that you are jealous of that dim young man.” As he stood behind me, the Reaper tossed his arms over my shoulders and squeezed me in an impromptu hug. “Poor, sweet Bassie… having to watch his heart’s delight run off with some strange human on a _date,_ where he’ll do who-knows-what to our lovely Gillykins.”

I tossed him off, muttering something about his delusions regarding me, and stomped into the kitchen. He followed me, of course. Damn Reaper.

“You can’t deny it! Your trousers are bulging with _loooove_ ,” he said, dragging out the word like it was a piece of rotten fruit sliding down a wall after being thrown against it. _Hard_.

Yes, that was a metaphor.

“Sutcliff…” I sighed angrily, pulling out a chair and sitting down. I pretended like I was interested in going through a pile of junk mail that happened to be on the kitchen table. “If you have nothing better to do, I’d prefer it if you left. And never came back, as well.”

“Oh but look at you!” he said, coming up behind me and dragging a clawed hand down the front of my shirt. “You’re as _hard_ as a _rock_ , my love!” When he got too close to said rock-hard parts, I whacked his hand away with enough force to have separated it from his wrist. But, he has inhuman Reaper reflexes, and he was too damn quick.

He spun around dramatically, doing that stupid _thing_ with his middle fingers. “A rock this Reaper would _love_ to climb!”

Enough was enough. I stood up. "Oh – _all right_ , already! Anything to make you _go away,”_ I growled through clenched teeth. I pulled the chair out and turned it to face him, then sat back down. I threw one arm over the back of the chair in a casual way, and slid the palm of my other hand down the side of my thigh. Then I parted my legs for him.

I was now sitting in a manner that I have always considered to be vulgar for a gentleman. Legs wide open like a common whore – I can’t tell you how many times I berated Ciel for sitting like that – so slovenly. Coarse.

 _Rude._ ­

And now here I was, doing just that. Oh, well.

I didn’t unbelt, unbutton, or unzip a goddamn thing. If he wanted to help me out so badly, I was going to make him do _all_ the work.

His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and Grell moved toward me with the expression of the stupefied. His lower lip quivered and his hands stretched out slowly, but I grabbed him by his scrawny neck before he could make contact. I hissed through my fangs, “Just watch those damn razor blades you call _teeth_ , Reaper."

I thought he might start crying from sheer happiness as he lowered himself, reverently in fact, to his knees, positioning himself neatly between mine.

 

+

 

“Vile. _Disgusting_ ,” said the second one.

The first one could not disguise the fact that the entire situation was very humorous. “What’s disgusting? That he’s engaging in sexual behavior? Or is it because it’s oral? Or – that it’s homosexual, maybe?” The second one curled his lip. “What? _You_ complained about me being a prude.”

“Please. I absolutely do not give a damn what orientation _anyone_ is, or what positions they favor. I am disgusted… by _him.”_

A very loud, rude snicker was heard from the first one. The second one frowned, seeking clarification.

_“Which one?”_

The first one’s guffaws, and they truly could be called that, were heard echoing throughout the massive halls that surrounded them. Many a curious head turned to look, and became even more curious when they only saw one person standing near the noise, and that one was _not_ known to have a sense of humor.

The second one sighed wearily, and walked off.

 

+

 

I had to admit that allowing Sutcliff to give me a ‘blow job’ had been a good idea. He wasn’t bad at all, actually. A little quick perhaps, but, and I hate to say this, _deadly efficient._ I kicked him out immediately after I came off, though, before he could start begging for a damn cuddle.

I wasn’t _really_ in a better mood by the time Gilda arrived home – safe and sound, and _earlier_ than expected, I will add. But at least the urge to rip someone’s head off had abated, all thanks to the Red Reaper’s interesting, eager mouth. I have to remember that he could be handy to have around for such moments.

When Gilda returned that night after her date, she had a few things to say about Mr. Ben Tomlinson, and none of them were favorable.

“Turns out he knows Linda, the Evil Witch of the East, and I think he may have been setting something up to help her screw with me at school, but I can’t be sure. Either way I wasn’t gonna let him touch me after that first kiss. He was awful.” She sighed and headed up the stairs, with me in close tow. I kept trying to smell her as discreetly as possible, concerned that the boy went further than that without her permission, and she wasn’t telling me the whole truth to try and prevent me from running off to eviscerate him.

I could smell him on her, but only a small amount. Unfortunately, hiding things from me wasn’t going to help any. I already wanted to rip his throat out just for being alive.

“Where’s Grell? Did she leave already?”

_Yes. I came, and then ‘she’ left._

“He has left for the evening, Miss. He said to tell you goodnight and pleasant dreams.” Sutcliff _had_ said that, actually, but for Gilda’s sake I left it out that my fluid was dripping down his chin at the time.

“Oh, she’s such a sweetie,” she gushed, and I felt the bile rising again. Still, I’d rather she’d gone on a date with Sutcliff than this jerk Ben Tomlinson. “Anyway, _Ben_ will probably tell Linda that he fucked me, then she’ll tell everyone at school that I’m a cheap whore or something.”

“Miss… You,” I started, pausing at the stop of the stairs. She stopped and looked at me. “Please tell me that you truly _did not_ have intercourse with him. You are not just saying that for _my_ benefit, are you?”

Gilda sighed, and turned into her bedroom.

"That's a fair question, Alex. I've told you before that I’m kinda promiscuous. But the answer is no, I didn't have sex with him. He was a terrible kisser and wouldn't stop talking about nascar. Talk about a one-eighty..."

I didn’t know what nas-car was, and I didn’t care. I stuck to the problem at hand. Following her into her bedroom, I inquired, “One-eighty, Miss?”

“You know,” she said, hopping on her bed and tossing her purse on the floor. “When someone’s personality turns on a dime from who you though they were, and goes the opposite way. A _bad_ way, usually. Even Fortune noticed it. He felt awful for setting me up with him.”

“I am certain Mr. Fernandez did not mean for this to happen.”

I removed one shoe and its sock, gently caressing the skin of her foot as I exposed it. Freeing the feet did very nice things to the prey’s scent, even as they barely notice it themselves. I continued on to her other foot, reveling in the quiet sigh she released as I stroked that foot as well. I stayed where I was, kneeling between her strong legs, and massaged her feet.

“Fortune? Oh, no way, he didn’t have- _ohhhhhh…_ ” she sighed when I pushed my thumbs into an arch, and I looked up just as her eyes closed and her head fell back. “Alex… That feels _so_ good.”

Long, wavy hair dangled behind her back, and her neck muscles convulsed as she swallowed hard and let out another sigh. I bravely fought the urge to take those perfectly sweet little toes into my mouth and suck them clean. Instead, I moved on to her top.

"Mistress... Did you _want_ to have relations with him?" I asked, lifting the emerald green jumper, one of the pieces she kept from my shopping spree, over her head.

"No.. I mean... well, _yes_ ,” she said from within the cocoon of the jumper. “What I _mean_ is, it's been awhile, and you’ve taken my _toy_ away from me,” her head popped out and she paused to smirk at me. I frowned back. “So, yeah, I was looking forward to some sex. But after about fifteen minutes in his presence, I knew it wasn’t gonna happen with _him_.”

I removed her bra, which was always an adventure, and visually checked her breasts for marks in case the boy had manhandled her. Luckily for him I found nothing suspicious.

My female prey has always had it in common that, when removing their clothing, freeing up the breasts was just as welcome a relief as freeing up the feet. Given the torture-inducing construction of the modern brassiere, I am sure Gilda felt as much. But I did not touch her breasts. Not this time. Not that I didn’t want to; I did. But it would have been too much, too soon. I had to be diligent to my plan.

Gilda stood up to let me unfasten her jeans, and I contemplated what she was telling me as I peeled them down her thighs. “It's sad that I can tell so quickly anymore… but I really hate stupid nascar and I _really_ like kissing, so that kind of sealed his fate.”

She _liked_ _kissing?_ I knew she was good at it, but I didn’t know she liked it so much.

Oh my, how delightful for me!

She sat back down on the bed and I finished pulling the atrocious jeans from her body. I flung them across the room without taking my eyes off of her, and I heard them land squarely in the dirty clothes hamper.

I was still kneeling on the floor at this point, situated between her legs as they dangled off the bed. I looked up at her, clad only in her panties, with my head just the slightest bit lower than hers. Without another word, I took her face in the palms of my hands and kissed her.

I made sure this was not like any of the other kisses we’d shared before.

That _thing_ that’d happened between us in the salon was heated, yes; but _both_ of us had had ulterior motives, which had ruined the moment. Our quick pecks in the pool? Completely different. The kiss in the hospital was simply to assure her that I was there for her, as I promised, and to reassure myself that she was not actually at death’s door under all that medication. And the bathtub…

Well, that hadn’t been kissing at all, now, had it? Whatever it was, it hadn’t happened since, either.

_More’s the pity._

She froze, at first, as I expected her to. But then she placed her hands on my wrists while I held her face, and returned the kiss. I could taste the young man on her, but it was faint at the most. She’d told the truth, she had kissed him only briefly. But still, I _could_ taste him. It sent my instincts reeling and I had to fight another urge to lick and suck, using our kiss as an excuse to clean all traces of him from her.

But this wasn’t about me defending my claim; I had to make this about Gilda’s needs.

A soft pop was all either of us heard when our lips finally parted. I looked up at her, smiling sweetly, and she licked her lips. "Why did you do that?" she finally whispered.

"My mistress needed one hell of a kiss. Of this, I am _more_ than capable."

Gilda’s pretty face turned that color again. I felt positively triumphant.

"You've already bathed twice today, and you are tired. Shall we just tuck you in as is, then?"

"Yes. Yes, that will be fine,” she sighed, a dreamy look on her face.

After I got her under the covers, Gilda’s arms shot out and grabbed the black cotton of my shirtsleeves. She did not look very sure of herself as she slid her hands up my sleeves to drape her arms around my shoulders. When she used my back to pull herself up closer to my face, she asked in a tiny, nervous voice, “Just one more. Please?”

“Miss does not say _please_ to the help,” I whispered, scolding her ever-so-slightly, and she bit her lip in response. “And you may have as many as you like.” As I cheerfully obliged her, one of her hands crept into my hair to clutch it slightly, as she pulled me down with her and opened up her mouth for me.

She can be such a _good_ little girl when she wants to.

Traces of the boy were still there, but it was much easier to ignore when I felt her pulling me closer like that. I wrapped one hand around the base of Gilda’s neck, my intent only to support her, and I placed the other on the pillow next to her head. I did not touch her further than that or try to steer the situation in any other fashion, because honestly, I wanted to see what _she_ was going to do.

Her touch was soft while she gently devoured my mouth. We went on like that for several minutes, it was not frantic nor did it grow so; just sweet, erotic kisses, deep and warm and lush. _So very pleasant._ As I allowed Gilda as much in the way of this as she wanted, I discovered there was good reason as to why she liked kissing so much. Whether from experience or her own natural tendencies, she wasn’t just good at it, she was _marvelous_ at it! In fact, she was so adept I could feel my own desires beginning to clamor. You are probably thinking otherwise, but you should know that I controlled my body’s reaction to hers very nicely, thank you. Or thank the damn Reaper for topping me off beforehand, whichever you prefer.

However, _reluctantly_ , I didn’t allow things to go any further than that. I had to hang on to some sort of a back up plan, you see. Gratefully, what I’d given her seemed to soothe the fit of pique her regrettable evening out had left her in. I wasn’t thrilled that she’d gone on a date to begin with, but I didn’t like seeing her upset about it either.

Finally she released me, smiling up at me in the soft light of her room. I tucked her back in, covering up her nearly-naked body with the comforter. Bidding her goodnight, I switched off her bedside lamp and left her room.

I wanted, very much, to play with her more than that, but…

 

+

 

I should tell you at this time that while Gilda was growing more and more comfortable with my familiarity, she had the good sense to keep it private. In fact, we were both behaving one way in public, or when the staff or her friends came calling, and quite differently when alone together.

Due to our contract, it was a given that we keep certain things private between us. But because of our budding relationship, we now had more to hide. I was her loyal butler, in every sense of the word, to the rest of the world. But at home, alone… I made it clear that I was her butler, _and_ a demon, and I would tend to her every need.

 _All_ of them.

No, not just sex. Not just yet. She accepted my help and care when I was sympathetic to her aches and pains, and was much better at leaving the ‘heavy lifting’ to me, so to speak.

Left to ourselves, brief, intimate contact became common – such as brushing her face with my fingertips, pushing her wayward locks back behind her ear, or guiding her from one room to another with my hand at the small of her back. She touched me as well, much to my surprise. It was rare if she _didn’t_ thank me for doing things for her, which annoyed me a bit, but her thanks were almost always accompanied by a hug, which did quite the opposite of annoy me.

Such moments are very different from when I bathe or dress her. That was expected, and treated as part of my job before we even got started, even if it was difficult for her. These things are different. They are subtle, and I am learning that this makes them far more powerful. It is almost as though we are engaging in a courtship.

One day she insisted I remove my gloves. I refused, so she clenched her teeth and ordered me to do it, and added that I was to keep them off whenever we were alone in the manor. I am still not sure about that one. But I will admit that the electric feel of her skin under my bare hands, however brief, has become an incredible expectation.

Gilda was also going places with me that no prey had ever gone before. She had questions about my past. Not just my recent past, either. She wanted to know where I _came_ from. I did my best to dodge the questions or gave vague, non-fictional answers.

She consulted me with her problems, asked for suggestions, and often took my advice, which was so completely unlike Ciel.

I should have expected it, given that she could still be made to blush, so she probably considered our unvarnished relationship to be private, like a tantalizing secret. I continue to remind myself that she had been so very independent before I came along; a person in her circumstances does not usually share the details of their life all that easily. That she shared her past and her concerns about the present with me probably made things like simply touching her hand all the more intense for her.

 

+

 

The morning after our kisses, I woke her as I normally do. We shared a few more smiles than the usual, but that was about it. I asked her what she was planning to do if her mortal enemy, Linda Derricott, was going to use her disastrous date as fodder to slander her reputation. She said she didn’t have a clue.

“May I make a suggestion, Miss?”

“Please,” she said, then took a bite of her rye toast.

I sat on the side of the bed next to her. “Allow the rumors to start. When someone gets curious enough to ask you about it, and someone _will,_ don’t deny it.”

She swallowed hard. “Don’t? Really?”

“Don’t. Make them believe that you did, indeed, have sex with Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Uh. Okay. Then what?”

“Tell them his performance was mediocre at best, but was made even worse by the fact that all he could do was compare you to Miss Derricott. Say that he eventually started to cry, because you were so much more satisfying than she is, and he was miserable at the thought of going back to her.”

She gaped at me. “Oh, Alex. That’s really _mean,”_ she said. “Should I really go that far?”

“Miss Derricott would go that far, wouldn’t she?”

She paused, then said, “Yeah. Yeah, she sure would.”

“Then beat her to the punch. Remain confident in your story, and tell it with your natural charm, and no one will doubt you speak the truth. Derricott will become nervous and panic, and will try to trump you, but she will have no more cards to play with.”

When I dropped her off that morning, I had no idea if she was going to take my suggestions. But when I picked her up that afternoon, she was all smiles as she bounded down the stairs and into the limo. Her friend Fortune was with her; he was coming home with us.

From the driver’s seat, I questioned how her day went, not being too specific since we were not alone.

“Wait for it, Alex,” she said, grinning.

Linda Derricott eventually made her way past our limo. She kept a respectable distance from the front of it, finally, and she had _no_ disciples in tow. She clutched at the strap of her bag relentlessly, and her face was twisted with unrighteous anger, and she did no more than glance at the vehicle we were sitting in as she passed us and got into the back seat of her own transportation, slamming the door.

I smiled. Gilda and Fortune Fernandez began laughing.

“Thank you, Michaelis. Great advice, as usual,” Gilda said, holding her side.

“Wait – you mean to tell me that butler–” Fortunado Fernandez paused, scooted forward, and perched his forearms on the back of the front seat so that he could speak to me directly. “That was _your_ idea?” He sounded positively scandalized, even as he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Young man, if the Franks family butler cannot do a simple little thing like help his Mistress impede a school bully, what sort of a butler would I be?”

Gilda was laughing so heartily there were tears coming from her eyes, and her friend soon joined her. As I pulled out of the conservatory drive, I couldn’t help but feel a tremendous swell of satisfaction. Gilda would never have the same sense of bitter vengeance that Ciel had; she simply wasn’t that person.

However, I honestly didn’t think she had in her to play dirty, not even with _my_ seductive encouragement. As such I was enormously pleased with her.

I caught her eyes in the rear-view mirror as we drove, and gave her a smile that reflected exactly what I was feeling: a lot of pride and a healthy dose of lust. I knew she’d understood my intent when I saw her cheeks fill with magenta.

“You okay, Gillie?” her friend asked her, still laughing. “You look flushed.”

“It’s just all the laughing,” she said to him, then smiled back at me in the mirror. When I narrowed my eyes at her playfully, she bit her lip and shyly cast her eyes downwards.

“Yeah. I’m okay, Fortune. I’m great.”

Indeed.

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

 

+

 

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 8**

 

 

+

 

Thanksgiving came and went, and it had been busy as… Well. You know.

The food had been glorious! I was in my prime, cooking and polishing and arranging and cleaning and tending. Oh, the desserts I made! And me with an entire houseful of grateful, hungry people. What _luxury_.

I got to arrange a pool party, finally. Sutcliff showed up for it and he was quite the entertainer. The students loved it; in fact, they loved the entire week, all thanks to my Mistress giving me the freedom to handle things as I wished. There was only one bizarre incident during the entire break, with a student who did not end up on the short list of her friends that I was all right with.

His name was David Taylor, and as Gilda relayed, she “thought he was okay. Guess not. He was one of Linda’s ex-gaggle, he seemed really sincere when he asked if he could come over for the break.”

“Pardon me?”

“You know, he was all humble and so pathetic with not being able to go home, he’s from Canada and that’s like a million miles away–”

“No, I mean the–” I sighed. Gilda tore off on tangents so thoroughly she now had meinterrupting myself. “Mistress, really. The boy practically _invited_ himself. You need to inform me about suspicious behavior like that. Just think of what he _might_ actually have been up to.”

He’d behaved oddly before the actual day of the feast, staring at Gilda and occasionally myself, wandering into rooms he had no business being in. So what he ‘might’ have been up to was doing something to harm my Young Miss. During the tree-trimming party, I’d found him upstairs alone, in my private rooms, looking for something on my desk. When caught, he claimed he was looking for the library and thought that my room was it, but of course he smelled of lies. I informed him, politely, that he would be leaving that night. He did not put up a fight.

I’d have to keep an eye out for that one.

Uncle Rafael and the staff had attended the feast, as planned, along with a few wayward members of the Fernandez clan. They were all either salt of the earth, friendly types like Rafael himself, or dignified and pleasant, such as Fortunado.

There was a brief report after the meal, in the kitchen away from the eyes and ears of the relatives and students who busied themselves with the tree-trimming. Our staff was bleeding Norman Bellows’ firm dry. He was nearing bankruptcy, and we already had a lot of cash that needed laundering. Michael and Evelyn, who were growing quite close, already had half of it moved into other shelters.

“She can hand him his copies of the Chapter Seven papers herself. It’ll ne a nice Christmas present for Gillie!” Rafael laughed, just as my Mistress entered the kitchen.

“What’re you getting me for X-mas Uncle Rafe?” she asked, all sly and coy.

“It’s _Christ_ mas, you little heathen, and I’ll get you anything ya want.”

She giggled.

Everyone rejoined the tree-trimming party. Later on I saw Gilda taking Michael Jacobs aside, and telling him something. Their talk wasn’t intense, but she meant for it to be private. They were across a room full of laughing, talking, singing people, and this prevented me from listening in on the conversation. Her back was to me, so I could not even read her lips. Jacobs himself never said a word, he just nodded now and then, and I am fairly sure she instructed him to not talk. She’d obviously worked it out so that when it happened, it was kept from me.

Later that evening, when the students were in their guest rooms and the rest of the dinner guests had left for the night, we stole a moment in Gilda’s room to comb out her hair before bed. It had been difficult finding the time to stick to our routine with so many people in the house, so she had been bathing and dressing on her own. This was agitating me, and she knew it, so when the moment was right, I snuck in to play with her hair at night, at least. I was _not_ giving up her evening hair combing. I enjoyed it far too much.

Sitting in her vanity chair, she leaned back suddenly and looked up at me as I stood behind her. It was very fetching behavior, and I leaned over thinking she was requesting an upside-down kiss. _Yummy._ But before I could place my lips to hers, she blurted out, “Alex, I order you to stay out of the piano bench. Do not find a way to look at its contents, do not ‘accidentally’ make it fall over, do not get someone else to open it for you. Stay _out_ of it. Is that clear?”

I stopped. What was this, now? An _order_ even! First her cell phone messages are being kept from me, now this. It had to have something to do with the private conversation she’d had with Mr. Jacobs earlier that day.

“Yes, Miss,” I said, cradling her head in my hands. “May I ask why?”

“Nope,” she said, smiling up at me. “You’ll just do this.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Thank you,” she said, and _yes_ I still hated that, but then she pulled me down by a shirtsleeve with a wicked grin and gave me that upside-down kiss. _“More,”_ she demanded, rising out of her chair and closing the distance between us. I smirked at her, then tossed the hairbrush onto the Oriental rug and picked her up instead.

I did not understand her sudden urge to be naughty, but I wasn’t going to deny her – not completely, anyway. I carried her to the bed, squeezing her adorable backside in my large hands, and cheerfully kissing her eager mouth the entire way. She was aroused, more so than she had ever been with me before. Those fabulous legs writhed around my midsection, and as I placed her on her bed, we shared a quiet laugh while I struggled to untangle them.

When I tucked her in she tried to pull me down with her. I reminded her that the guest rooms were full of students, and the last time I brought her to a climax (which had been in the bathtub, all the way back in October), she had no reason to be quiet about it.

Thankfully, she only protested a little. I rewarded her with more kisses to help mollify her cravings, and she took them like a greedy child. My hand wandered a bit further than I intended, and I found myself caressing a breast through the thin cotton of her pajama top. When the nipple came to a point, she moaned into my mouth, and something other than my brain told me to continue. But I remembered my plan, and I pulled back, very slowly.

Gilda smiled up at me. “I like the way you tuck me in, Alex.”

My word… such a significant disclosure in one softly whispered sentence. Seems I had peeled back a little bit more of her armor.

She’d acknowledged her attraction. She _desired_ me. She was feeling just the right amount of affection. But she wasn’t falling – not just yet.

_We’re right on schedule._

Gilda appeared to be satisfied, thank the heavens, so I brushed the side of her cheek and wished her pleasant dreams (with _me_ in them, hopefully), and left her for the night.

The household with all its guests had retired, so I went down to the kitchen and put an icepack on my crotch. I had loads of extra work to do yet, and I didn’t want to put up with waiting for the erection to die down on its own. It was such a bother sometimes, holding back as much as I had been.

Briefly, I wondered what Grell Sutcliff was up to. I could have used his fervent mouth for about ten minutes… but if I called him now he’d probably expect something in return this time. I’d tell him to sod off, and then he’d cause a ruckus and would wake up the entire house, and _then_ I’d have a real mess on my hands. In addition, I still hadn’t figured out if Gilda was the jealous type. My gut said _no_ , but…

This wasn’t an easy task. I wanted Gilda just as much as she wanted me. When her soft moan had reached my ear, I had to suppress the urge to remove her pajamas and suckle those dark pink nipples, as well as any other part that struck my fancy. I wanted to hear her ask for _more,_ again and again. I wanted to be _inside_ her.

She really was a very alluring human, but unfortunately I had to watch myself. The timing had not been good, and I am not referring to just the presence of houseguests. Spring was a long way off, and I had to pace myself. Whether or not we’d resume what we started after the guests cleared out that weekend, I had no idea… but as Grell Sutcliff would say, there had been _tongue_ involved, so I had to concentrate and keep my own desires in check.

By Friday evening, nearly all of the decorations were up. Just to satisfy your curiosity, I did manage to find a statue of Dionysus for my Mistress. I affixed it to the top of the gigantic tree that I’d cut down for her. It was a nude of the Greek god, with grape vines, the proverbial jug, and a few clinging, inebriated harlots. It screamed of drunken ecstasy and she absolutely loved it.

There was only the outdoor lighting left. I was determined to get it done before the first major snowfall, but Gilda asked that I wait to do that until the Saturday before she returned to school. The students were to return that afternoon, and she wanted us to do the lights together, at night, _alone_. She was very specific.

She can be so flirtatious and sweet sometimes. I could just kiss her all over. And I _will_ , someday soon.

That Saturday, between myself and Rafael’s driver, we drove the seven remaining students back to their dorms in two limos. When Gilda and I returned that afternoon, we were finally alone in the manor for the first time since the evening of the Friday before, almost eight days.

I insisted on a hot bath, first thing, just to get reacquainted with our routine. No, we didn’t pick up where we left off and get all inflamed with each other. But it was very, very pleasant – for both of us. She had missed the attention as much as I had missed giving it.

I made Pot Roast for her supper, of course, and then we went out to do the lights afterwards. She wanted to help with the trees, so I decorated the house in a flash, and I was delighted to see her ‘o’ face again. She stood there gaping at my speed, and when I was done she smiled at me. When the switch was thrown, little white dots covered the outside of the manor, front to back, top to bottom, in a _very_ tasteful display I will add. She laughed and applauded.

We moved on to her precious Japanese maples. I allowed her to do four of the smaller ones with my help, which was very nice for me as I had to pick her up and balance her adorable backside on my shoulder. I held her steady, my hands wrapped tight around those strong thighs, and I tried not to think about all the other reasons I had for grasping her legs in such a manner.

The sun was nearly down and it was getting very cold, so I suggested she allow me to finish.

“Yeah, you’re right. I really am enjoying this, I mean I’ve never been able to do it before – except at Fortune’s house. Never at my _own_. But my hands are freezing. Go ahead.”

I finished again, lightening-fast, and she stood in the middle of the lane as I turned the power on.

“Oh jeez! They’re _beautiful!”_

Electricity was annoying in its own way – I am very old-fashioned. But it had its perks, as well. These lights had colors, and they _twinkled_. I loved the way they reflected in Gilda’s bright, happy eyes.

When I carried her inside, it was already dark out so I took her directly up to her room. Her hands were indeed cold, as well as her poor feet, so I lit a fire in her bedroom hearth and brought her some perfectly spiked eggnog. When I came back later that night to tuck her in, she had fallen asleep right where I’d left her, in the chair by the fire. I carried her to her bed, and began changing her clothes. Luckily for me, she didn’t wake up until after I managed to pilfer a few kisses in unexplored territory. She has _delightful_ hipbones.

I would wait to give her more, but I would _steal_ everything I could until then. Heh.

Now safely under the covers, she looked up at me with a slightly inebriated expression and said, “I finally had a nice holiday in my own place.”

“There is more to come, Miss,” I offered, kissing her forehead and switching off her bedside lamp. Unsurprisingly, even though she was sweating some when I checked on her later, she didn’t take off her shirt that night.

 

+

 

The next day was Sunday, her last day of the Thanksgiving break before returning back to school.

I was humming to myself in the kitchen, preparing Gilda’s breakfast, when I heard her mournful cries. I do not refer to my Mistress.

I began leaving out dishes of cream just outside the delivery door of the kitchen the very first night we came to live in this manor, and sure enough, I caught the attention of a stray cat. Not just any stray, either – when she’d finally let me close enough to pick her up for a cuddle, my demon senses instantly detected that she was about a week pregnant with a litter. That was back in October. She was probably going to be having her babies the week before Christmas. There would be kittens!

Taking on the form of a cat was one of my many talents as demon. I also use the form of a crow, but that is mainly for reconnaissance. Being a cat, however, was _enjoyable_. I always try to make a cat-friend (or enemy) and play with them for a few hours. Do not ask me to go into details; cats are highly territorial and ruthless hunters, and very promiscuous. A description of my adventures may disgust you.

Or, not; I have no idea.

In any case, there were five of them in her belly, I think. Of course I had plans to make Cat – yes, I called her _Cat_ , because I didn’t know her name – a Queening Box, and to take care of her and her little ones the best I could without Gilda being aware of it. I knew my Mistress liked animals, but I had no idea how she would react to having them in the manor. For now, I just continued to feed Cat and stroked her soft fur when she allowed it.

My heart leapt. Excited at her early arrival, I went to the icebox and retrieved what I had been so diligently saving for her.

An old tradition in human culture was to set the remains of a chicken or turkey carcass out for strays after removing what was to be used for soup. Such customs have fallen out of favor in the last century, with people citing the dangers of vermin and germs to close to the home.

But not with me. Having prepared a Thanksgiving feast for nearly two dozen people, I had two large Turkey carcasses waiting for Cat in the icebox. My plan was to break them down and feed her delicious meals for about a week. Cat’s babies were growing rapidly and she needed the nourishment.

Gilda was still in the unfortunate habit of ‘checking out the fridge’ as she called it, to get herself a snack. Each time she opened it since the feast, she wrinkled her nose and asked me when the dead birds were going to be cleared out. I kept giving her the soup excuse, and continued pressing her to just call for me if she wanted a snack, not to just _get it herself_ like some commoner, with the hope of staving off further inquiries. I worried that I was going to have to resort to my stern voice to get my way. Given my Grand Plan and our excellent progress in the sex department, I did not want to do that.

_Bother_. Maybe she’d get the point on her own…

Cat had not shown herself during the break, making me nervous as to where the poor thing was and how she was coping. I think there were just too many people around for her comfort. Unfortunately that meant the _dead birds_ had been in the icebox for a while as well.

I opened the delivery door, holding roughly one-third of one carcass in my hand, and there she was at my feet. Oh, my darling little mother-to-be! She took one look at what I held in my hand and began licking her tiny, delicate chops. Winding her lithe, kitten-filled body around the legs of my black trousers, I welcomed her into the house and shut the door.

She was a Russian Blue, and her coat was thick and shiny. Her eyes were the bright celadon color expected in the ring for that breed. She was slightly older as well, so I do not think this was her first litter. What fool would toss such a beautiful girl outside, I cannot imagine. Or perhaps she ran away from an unhappy home.

It didn’t matter; she was _mine_ now, and she’d be cared for properly.

Cat ate slowly, which heartened me. This told me she was not starving and had found meals during her absence. I got her a dish of cream to go with her turkey. Squatting down to set the cream next to the carcass, I reached out and stroked her from her sensitive ears to her beguiling tail.

_So_ soft. I murmured and cooed sweet words to my beautiful Cat, and she occasionally stopped feeding to rub her head into my palm or meow her gratitude. Such an adorable. loving creature.

I stifled a growl when I felt someone’s presence behind us. Standing quickly, I was surprised to see Gilda, with disheveled bed hair and a cute smirk, wearing a dark green robe over her pajamas. I was so enraptured with the return of Cat that I hadn’t noticed Gilda creeping downstairs. She was standing behind me in the kitchen now, watching me interact with my lovely friend.

“Miss?” I asked quietly. “Why are you out of bed? I will have your breakfast ready momentarily…”

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.” She smirked at me again and came closer, but slowly. Cat stopped eating and mewed, looking up at her.

“ _Pretty_ kitty,” she said, and her voice was softer than I have ever heard it. Cat sniffed the air, then went back to her meal. Gilda smiled at me mischievously, then went to the kitchen table where she took a seat and stared at me.

I sighed. Yet another secret I was not going to be able to keep from her.

I busied myself with the coffee machine and pretended nothing had happened. “Why didn’t you tell me we had a cat?” she asked, and the tone in her voice was pure tease. “I’ve never heard you talk so sweetly before.”

“I have spoken to you many times with a sweet disposition,” I said curtly. “In fact I usually speak to you thusly.”

“Not like _that,_ ” she laughed. “You’re _adorable_ , Demon.” She snickered rudely and covered her mouth.

I frowned at her, irritated at being found out. But at least she wasn’t screaming and demanding that Cat be tossed out and never let back in. In fact, I was about to be given another gift.

“You can keep him – ah, or _her?_ Whatever – in the house, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

I looked over at her slowly. No doubt my expression surprised her.

“Miss – _really?_ Are you being serious? Because…”

“Shit, Alex. I’ve never _seen_ you this happy. _I_ certainly don’t make you this happy. Of course we can keep it. You have to take care of it, though. I’ve never had a pet so I don’t know how. Is she healthy?”

“Well. Yes, she’s actually _very_ healthy. And… Cat is a _she_ , and she is also pregnant.”

“Ah. Good name. So… kittens for X-Mas, then.”

Thrilled. I was _thrilled_ , I tell you _._ I controlled it, however, not wanting to look like an insipid fool in front of the prey.

“Thank you, Miss. You are very magnanimous.”

“If you say so, Alex. It’s a big house. I don’t want more people than you and me running around here _all_ the time, but we could use a nice pet or two.” I held my breath, hoping she was not going to say something horrifying about getting a puppy. _Gods…_

“Alex, just… Just make sure she doesn’t have fleas, okay? Bugs like…” She hesitated, staring at Cat. Biting her lip, she got up and turned her back on me as she walked to the door.

“Miss?”

Just before she reached the door, she said quietly, “Bugs seem to like me. I get bit. _Often_. That’s why I don’t go outside much.” She pushed open the swinging door to the main hall and said, “I’m really hungry. I’ll be in bed.”

She disappeared into the hall.

Well, well… there _was_ more to her fear of the cross spider than her just being ‘girlie’. Bugs liked to feed on her? Not surprising, given the quality of her blood.

However, I’m afraid _not_.

I am the only one that will be biting her in this house.

 

+

 

Gilda practiced a little bit that afternoon, and later came into the kitchen where I was washing the morning dishes. Cat was asleep on a makeshift bed of fluffy towels, warm and happy next to a modern heating radiator. Gilda smiled down at her as she walked past.

“Hello, Mistress.”

She grinned at me. “Cat seems happy. That’s nice.”

I smiled. “I have bathed her. She is completely clear of vermin, and I will see to it that she stays that way. I wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“You _bathed_ a stray? Didn’t she fight you?”

I though to tell her the complete truth – that I had transformed and licked Cat clean myself, but I decided to keep things simple.

“Not at all. She seemed to enjoy it.” Not a lie. That was one very happy pussy by the time I was finished with her _._ Changing the subject, I asked, “May I get you a snack, Miss?”

“No, just wanted to chat.”

“I see. What did you want to talk about? I am versed in many subjects.”

She grabbed an apple from a fresh fruit bowel on the kitchen table, and jumped up on the counter next to the sink.

“Alex,” she began, banging her heel softly against a cupboard, “Why don’t we have a dish washer?”

I looked over at her and tilted my head. Reaching a hand out to her, I tapped the tip of her nose with a suds-covered finger. “We do,” I quipped, smirking.

She grinned and wiped the suds away with the back of her hand. “Cute,” she said, “But you know what I mean. We have a washing machine, a dryer, all that. Why not a dishwasher?”

“I don’t care for them. They don’t do nearly as good a job as I can. The silverware and the dishes will be _perfection_. That is a rule with me. And… The fact of the matter is, I _enjoy_ washing dishes.”

“You’re a total throwback,” she laughed lightly. “So which era has been your favorite? If I go by the way you decorated your room, I’d guess Victorian.”

It was true, I had re-created the room I occupied at the Phantomhive mansion down to the last detail in Gilda’s manor. I was quite fond of that room. It suited me.

But that had not been my favorite time in human history. I’m not telling Gilda, nor will I tell you, what that was. Ciel had not been my first rare soul, although he was the first one I came to love. There was one before him, my first of that caliber, and her soul had lasted over five hundred years.

“I liked the Victorian age quite a bit, yes,” was all I offered. “Did you have a nice break, Miss?”

“Yes,” she replied, her eyes lighting up. “You did _such_ a good job. Really, Alex, if this demon thing doesn’t work out for you, you’ve a second career waiting, trust me.”

“I’m afraid this _‘demon thing’_ is something I cannot rid myself of. But… _buttling_ , yes. I know.” I smiled.

“Well, okay, a third career then. I meant you’d make a great party planner. Ooh! _Wedding planner._ Yeah. Or interior decorator.”

“Miss is too generous.”

“Nah. Really, Alexander. I’m lucky to have you.”

_And have me you do. Until the end. You cannot get rid of me. Ever._

I leaned over and gave her a peck on her cheek. Gilda blushed, and her pheromone levels went up a notch. Just a teensy bit, just the right amount.

“Okay, we’ll I’m gonna take an early swim today,” she said, leaping off the counter and putting the apple back. Had that entire conversation been an excuse just to compliment me?

Really… You should congratulate me. I was doing _so_ well!

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, wiping my hands off on a towel. I could finish the dishes later. “I shall go check the linens in your changing room and wait for you there with your suit.”

Where I shall brush and twist your lovely hair into a nice, tight bun. And undress you. And touch you. _Oh_ …

“Oh, Alex, come on! I like it when you change my clothes, but I don’t need to be babied _that_ much. You go do your chores, I know you like that. I can swim alone.”

I could have argued with her, but we’d had such a nice little interlude, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

“All right Miss. I will permit you some privacy, if that is your wish. But if you need _anything_ , anything at all, even if it is to just stomp a bug – although if there is a bug down there I will be simply mortified – just say my name and I will be there in an instant.”

“Yeah,” she quipped, hanging onto the doorframe and smiling from ear to ear, “I’ve seen how fast you are. Are you that fast with _everything_ you do?”

The little flirt.

“I guess you will just have to find that one out for yourself, Miss Gilda.”

 

+

 

“The brute is going to kill her. We should interfere, and now.”

“You know as well as I do that if we interfere _now_ , it will not work. He needs to fulfill the contract, and that won’t happen until the coming Spring,” the first one said, sounding bored. “And just what do you mean by this _‘we’_ rubbish? I can’t do _anything._ And _you_ can’t break the rules.”

The second one stewed.

“Well, that’s wrong, actually. You can. You just _won’t_. Isn’t that right?”

The second one began to fume. They continued monitoring the scene as it played out, hoping they wouldn’t have to change their long-term plans.

 

+

 

At some point while Gilda was swimming, Cat came tearing though the kitchen and into the pantry. She found a hiding spot in the back and would not come out. Most cats were skittish and pregnant females more so. While I found it perplexing, I did not try to force her out.

Then I heard it. It was very quick, but make no mistake, it was the sound of Gilda crying out my name for a brief moment, then silence.

I flew through the kitchen to the basement stairs, down through the game room, and then flung the pool door open and burst onto the concrete deck. There in the water, to my horror, was my Young Miss… unmoving, floating face down, with a pink cloud of what was surely her blood blossoming out around her in the five foot depth.

The next moments, several things happened very quickly. My heart sank in my chest at the thought of her dead. Not her soul, lost to me, but the thought of Gilda, _gone_. I looked down at my hand, and surprisingly, the contract mark was still present and as dark as the first day.

_Then,_ I noticed a man, fully dressed and climbing out of the water some feet away from her, with blood dripping down one side of his face.

I had to get to Gilda, but I had to detain him as well. What to do…

I moved so fast I could not be seen. I grabbed him by the throat and lifted him high above my head. Demonic eyes glowed, fangs were bared, and I growled so loudly the light fixtures rattled.

He panicked, looking down at his unearthly attacker with fright in his dark eyes. Disgusted with him, and realizing that I _had to get to Gilda_ , I tossed him aside where he hit the wall with a satisfying thud. I heard flesh tear and bones break before he fell to the floor.

I dove in after Gilda and removed her from the water at inhuman speed, laying her down on the concrete gently. There were ligature marks on her neck, obviously from the man’s hands, and she was not breathing.

I was going to tear him to tiny little pieces.

I put an ear to her chest, and realized with horror that her heart was not beating.

_“No._ No, no, no, Mistress, _breathe,_ ” I urged, panic welling in my gut. I slapped her across the face, hard, but she did not respond.

I could not lose her, not now. There was so much left for her to do, her composition had to be finished, I needed to _touch_ her more than I had, she had to finish _school_ –

When had her life become this important to me? Why was I lamenting the loss of that before my meal?

I had no answer. All I was aware of was the panic I felt at the thought of losing her. I applied CPR – yes, I know how to do it. I figured it would come in handy in my profession and now here it was, doing just that–

Nothing. I flipped her over and pounded on her back several times. _“Gilda!”_ I yelled, breaking one of my precious rules of buttling and using just her name, and pounded again. Flipping her over, I was about to start another round of CPR when the sudden, _beautiful_ noise of her spitting up pool water filled my ears. I smiled nervously, and gently turned her onto her side, pounding her back again, _demanding_ that the water leave her lungs.

She coughed and coughed, then wiped her mouth and blinked. I sat her up and held her close to me, hiding my pathetic, relieved face from her view. When she coughed up more water, I resumed pounding.

“Stop it, stop! I’m breathing, I can breathe,” she managed, her voice sounding like she had been gargling with thumbtacks. She said my name and clung to me, and started to cry.

“Mistress… Miss Gilda.” That was all I could muster – her name.

That had been far too close. And I was clearly far too attached.

But, she was _alive_ , yes? She’d live on and I could do all those things with her that I had so carefully planned.

Gilda gasped suddenly, and her body tensed up in my arms. She began pushing me off her and was nearly scratching my skin to get free.

“Get off, let go let _go!”_ she screeched. Chalking it up to disorientation, I released her out of fear that she was going to hurt herself. She backpedalled on her rear-end away from me across the concrete and came to a halt with at least three feet of air between us. When I looked into her face, all I saw was fear.

The silence stretched out between us until her attacker disturbed it. The man had apparently woken up and decided to make his presence known by wailing in pain.

I whipped my head around. “Shut the fuck up,” I stated, looking at him with death in my eyes. It wasn’t _my_ fault his legs had broken. All _I_ did was throw him. He got the point and reduced his cries to a whimper. I turned back to the important person in the room.

“Miss Gilda, please do not be frightened. You are going to be fine.”

“What have you _done_ to me?” she screamed.

“Mistress, _please_ … calm yourself. I did not attack you,” I begged, placing my hand on the wet fabric of my shirt right over my heart. She was confused from her attack and drowning, or at least, I _hoped_ that’s all this was. “It was _him,”_ I said, pointing behind me, never taking my eyes off of her.

She looked past me to the whimpering goon, who was no doubt flailing on the concrete in a growing puddle of his own blood.

Gilda looked back at me, wild-eyed and crazed. When I made a move towards her, she immediately shimmied backwards again on her hands and backside, skinning her palms and thighs in the process.

I reached out to grab her to me, thinking this was ridiculous behavior. But then she put up a defensive arm, and screamed, “Don’t touch me!”

Shocked, I recoiled. “What did you say to me…?” I tried not to think of Ciel, but it was nearly impossible.

_“Stay away from me!”_

“Miss Gilda, I assure you, I am not the one who is trying to hurt you. You are my Mistress. I am your butler. We have a _contract_.” I swallowed, hesitating with what I was about to say. But I was flummoxed by this display of fear. It was directed at _me_. I had to do something.

“You are mine. I _care_ for you. I am trying to protect you.”

She breathed hard, and her eyes began welling up. “What have you done, Demon? Who the fuck is Claude Faustus?!”

Oh dear.

 

+

 

Promising her an explanation, Gilda finally allowed me to touch her. I wrapped her shaking body in a blanket, and I made her sit in a lawn chair while I dealt with our broken-legged ruffian.

I couldn’t just kill him. He was the only one with any information as to why he was there. So I gleaned – well, all right, I crushed his fingers to get it – some information from him. He revealed he was in the employ of one Norman Bellows, no surprise there, and that he’d gotten the code for the alarm from none other than David Taylor.

_Wonderful._ Now I had to rid the manor of a soon-to-be-dismembered body _and_ kill a conservatory student. It was going to be a busy week.

This man had to be taken care of, and Gilda knew it as well. She looked miserable, but to my surprise, she ordered me to do it. I was further shocked when, even after I asked her to keep her eyes shut, she refused and watched me work as I ended his life. I was quick about it, but given how angry I was, I was not gentle.

Eventually she let me examine her and alleviate my concerns that she was not bleeding out from a wound. The blood in the pool water, I learned, had belonged to her attacker. She had tried to scratch his ear off during their fight.

Apparently he had been standing at the edge of the pool waiting. When she came up to the wall to turn into another lap, he’d grabbed her by the hair and then forced her under. She’d used her legs against the wall of the pool to pull him in with her, and they fought, which was when she scratched his ear. She managed to get back up for a gulp of air and got out half my name, but he overpowered her again and choked her under the water’s surface. She lost consciousness quickly after that, and took in water. It had happened very quickly.

She had no physical wounds aside from the uncomfortable feel of having had water in her lungs, strangulation marks on her neck from the man’s hands, and scrapes from the concrete on her thighs and hands, which she’d given to herself when she tried to get away from me.

As to her behavior after… Something had happened to her – to her _soul_ – while her heart had stopped.

As the day wore on, it became obvious that Gilda was quite shaken from her experience. She was walking around, her eyes were open, she was _functioning_ … but her mind was clearly far away. Despondent, rattled. Afraid of me, but unable to leave my side.

The police never came, because her attacker had somehow disabled the alarm from the outside and then quietly broken the lock to the basement doors. _Fucking computers_. I wasn’t going to rely on that infernal thing ever again. In the end, it was good that law enforcement hadn’t come because there would have been all those messy legal entanglements to deal with.

Rafael Fernandez had arrived, however, within forty-three minutes after the attack, and was beside himself with guilt and fury that Gilda had been hurt. Before he drove off that night to poke his nose into the underbelly for more answers, he left seven of his goons with us.

Despite the fact that Rafael’s men were on the grounds and stationed at various points throughout the house, I was the one she was looking to for protection. That’s as it should be, really, I couldn’t have been happier that she was seeing me in that light now; she should have seen me as her one and only protector from the start.

I was to blame that she hadn’t. I had been far too lax in letting her have her way, like going on a silly date or her being away at school for several hours… all that time, alone, out of my sight. All because I became overconfident in the progress and nature of the contract, and I didn’t want Gilda to get overly attached to me too soon. Now, I had to face the fact that _I_ was attached to _her_ , and look where my damn plan has gotten me. What a fix.

Unfortunately, it gets worse. It was obvious that during those brief seconds when her heart had stopped, she’d had an experience of some sort on another plane of existence. I do not know if she had been in Hell; logic tells me no, as she wasn’t technically _dead,_ nor was she _dying._ There had been no sign of the cinematic record, and no Reaper had shown up. However, how could she have possibly come up with the name _Claude Faustus_ if it had just been some damn hallucination? This was a complication I never could have foreseen.

There is also the problem of these new, unpleasant feelings towards me. Her desire to remain next to me for protection was wonderful. It was right on track with my plan. But she was also filled with distrust, and worse, hatred. This was a herald to the exact relationship I didn’t want to have with her.

Starting tomorrow, things would change. I would not let her out of my sight. I can be a cat, or a crow. I can hop amongst the treetops. The housework will have to be done at night, but I _will_ watch her at school.

As far as her attitude towards me… I had to make up my mind, and quickly, as to what I was going to do about that.

For the rest of that afternoon, she tended to follow me about the house, and because of that she didn’t get much work done on her studies. _I_ didn’t get much accomplished either, worrying about her state of mind. At one point, we were on a walkway in the upper levels of the library, and that cold, rainy November wind kicked up again. Leaves and sticks and dirt went flying through the air to scrape at the window of a nearby alcove, causing us both to turn and look at the sound. When it died down, I resumed shelving the book in my hand, but I felt something weighing down the sleeve of my other hand.

When I looked down, I saw it was Gilda’s fingers, clutching the fabric of my shirt right above the cuff.

Can you blame her?

Damnation is nothing like what you humans imagine it to be. It isn’t necessarily eternal, constant torture and abuse. There is that, yes, but not for every human that ends up there. It’s a completely tailored experience. The worst event thus far in her short life hadn’t been the death of her mother, or even that she’d been raped. It had been both her parent’s complete indifference to her. That had taught her to look inward for support, and to not trust anyone. So I had my suspicions as to what this experience, whatever it was, had been like for her, but I needed to get her to open up about it before I could help her with it. She wasn’t ever going to forget it, but I could help her move on.

She let go my sleeve immediately when she saw me looking. When I glanced at her face, her eyes were wild. She looked like an abused dog, waiting to be punished or struck. And like that same dog, she looked very angry. With _me._

_Bother._

Dinner went by quickly, but she didn’t eat much. Rafael stayed until then. He kissed her goodbye, and told her not to worry, and I noticed she clung to him a bit longer than usual when he hugged her. The presence of goons was not helping my efforts to have a long talk with her, _alone_. But I endeavored to go about our routine, hoping that would get her to open up and start telling me what had happened.

It didn’t do any good. She was shying away from me when I dealt with her clothes, despondent during her bath, and silent while I dried her hair. By the time I tucked her into her bed, nothing had changed. I was sitting next to her as she lay on her back, and she was looking up at me in the dim light of her bedside table lamp. Her eyes still had that vacant, wild look in them.

I removed a glove, goons in the house be damned, and brushed the tips of my fingertips across her forehead. Letting my fingers slide down her cheek, my palm came to rest on the side of her face.

_My priceless treasure. I almost **lost** her. _

She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into my touch just a tiny bit, but when she opened up her eyes again, her expression hadn’t changed.

“I’ll leave the light on, all right Miss?”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t even _move_. When I went to get up, one of her hands shot out and grabbed my sleeve, halting me from leaving.

Finally _. Finally, finally._

“Miss?”

Taking her hand back, she swallowed hard before answering. In a small, curt voice, she said, “I don’t want to dream about it.”

I sighed, sitting back down. “Miss Gilda, I cannot help you, or even determine what happened to you, until you tell me about it.”

Reluctantly, she started to talk. “It was barren.”

“There was no life there?”

She shook her head. “There was _something_ there… but all around me was dust and dry rocks. Like a dead planet.”

“How long were you in that place?”

“A week, maybe? Days. Miles and miles of the same damn thing. No day, no night. Walking, stumbling and running.”

When she stopped and looked me in the eyes, she did not look pleased with me.

“What else?”

“I was naked, which was awful. My knees were bleeding from falling down, my feet were all cut up. I was dirty. Exhausted. I was thirsty. But I just _couldn’t stop_.”

I sighed. “Days, you say?”

“That’s what it felt like. How long was I dead?”

“Mistress, you weren’t officially dead. Your heart stopped, that’s all.”

“How _long_ , Demon?” she asked through clenched teeth.

I hesitated to tell her. Time does not work the same in other dimensions as it does in yours. But, I would not lie. “Less than two minutes, I think.” She frowned. It was very hard for a human to accept the changes in perception between those places and here, and the loss of linear time was one of the most difficult adjustments.

“So if I wasn’t dead, then why was I in… Why was I _there?”_

“Firstly, I do not believe that wasHell. I imagine that is what it would be like for you, only it would be much worse. I can only surmise that you were in some sort of limbo, a state of flux. Perhaps because of your association with me you ended up there instead of… Instead of someplace more pleasant. Do you honestly think you’d prefer an eternity of _that_ over me eating your soul?”

“Don’t ask me that _now_ ,” she said, starting to tear up. I removed my other glove and stroked the sides of her face again, trying to shush her.

I admit that I was hurt, but not at all surprised when she slapped my hands away. Just like Ciel… Did Claude do to her what he did to him?

No. No, that wasn’t possible. If there _was_ anything left of Faustus, it couldn’t have been anything more than a demonic soul. Forever stuck in that form, he could do no more than torment her. She was simply angry with me.

Of course, there is nothing simple about that.

She stopped herself from crying, and blurted out angrily, “Who is this Claude person? What the _fuck_ have you gotten me mixed up in?!”

I was going to have to tell her things… _something_ , at least, that I didn’t want to.

“Claude Faustus is… _was_ another Demon. We fought a great battle in the past, and… I killed him.” I was going to say ‘he lost’, but that’s not really accurate, is it? “Please tell me what he did to you.”

“He didn’t _do_ anything. There was no one there, remember? I only heard him. He taunted me. He was very angry, He said he was going to take me from you. Then I’d feel something at my back, and I’d turn, but there was never anything there.”

“What _exactly_ did he say to you?”

“Alex…” she started, frowning. “Is this whole thing about my soul just some excuse? Are you…” she stopped, biting her lip and looking up at me with such an angry, frightened face. Swallowing hard, she continued. “Are you using me to get back at him for something?”

It was my turn for my eyes to ‘bug out’. I exhaled, and put my temper in check. After all, it wasn’t _her_ I was angry with.

“I have _contracted_ with you because I have something to offer you in exchange for your soul. I am hungry, and you are delicious.” She nodded, and I shouldn’t have been surprised at that. Accepting the terms of our deal so easily - sometimes I was confused as to why she actually contracted with me in the first place, taking such a terrible chance. Tonight’s little adventure had given her a taste of just how terrible it could be.

“If you consider that to be _using_ you, there is nothing I can do about it. But surely you know by now that I care about you a great deal.”

There was no lie there. I did care. I wanted to keep her bliss up as high as possible until the end, to enhance her flavor, true; but I _do_ care _._ I came out of that closet the moment I saw her floating face down in the pool.

Gilda wasn’t as convinced. “I thought you did. Now I’m not so sure.”

Goddamn Faustus and Hannah fucking Annafellows. Pardon my _damn French,_ as Uncle Rafael would say, but I am fucking pissed off. Once again, _they have ruined everything_. My ‘Grand Plan’ was quickly turning into a unfortunate salvage.

“I cannot force you to believe me, Mistress, but it is true. I care so much that I have your comfort in mind – at all times. I want you to be happy, not simply healthy.”

“What about sex? Are you using that to make me ‘happy’ as well?”

“No, I am hoping to use that to give you orgasms.”

She frowned again, and I cannot tell you how relieved I was that she did not make me elaborate any further.

“I want for your happiness, from now until I finally take you in, and to whatever degree can be achieved after that, as well. There will be no dusty rocks, bloody feet or terrorizing voices. Just sweet, calm, pitch black relief while you are nestled safely in my very being.”

“While you suck me dry, yeah.” She narrowed her eyes at me and it was not at all playful. “You don’t gotta sell me on it anymore, Alex. Trust me. You’ll get your damn dinner.”

_Resignation_. Not my favorite way to get them, but still.

All right, then. If she was to remain angry with me, then I’d have to deal with that. “You will tell me what he said, Mistress.”

She frowned again. Looking away from me, she continued. “I only heard him near the end. There was no noise at all before that, then all of a sudden there was this voice. It asked ‘how is Sebastian doing?’ then it laughed. He sounded like a… drunk, horny pervert.” Her lip curled back. “I called out your name a few times then. You didn’t answer, so I panicked. When I said I didn’t know any Sebastian, the voice got angry and called me a liar. He said he could smell Sebastian Michaelis all over me. Then he asked me if I had a butler, and shit got really weird from there.”

“Go on.”

“He told me his name was Claude Faustus. He said _your_ name is Sebastian. I guess that’s what Grell has been saying all this time? When she calls you ‘Bassie’? I should have guessed you were hiding things from me…” She trailed off, sounding miserable and buying her face in her hands. I refused to reach out and touch her.

I _wanted_ to, though.

Gilda wiped a few stray tears away with the back of her hand, and continued. “Then he kept saying ‘she left me, she stole them’, over and over, calling whoever this _her_ is a bitch and a cunt. He said he was going to cut me up and send me back to you in a bucket. He sounded just… _insane_ with rage. It was like his hatred was everywhere, buzzing in my brain and shaking the rocks. I covered my ears, but it didn’t help, and I fell down and I was terrified–”

She sobbed once, putting a hand over her mouth and closing her eyes.

“You could feel his presence?” She nodded. “Yet there was no one there with you.”

“No one. There was no one.”

“And no one was coming for you.”

Ah, there it was. I’d hit the mark. Her lower lip trembled, and really, she tried _so_ hard to keep the tears from flowing. What a little trooper. She turned her head away from me, embarrassed. When I tried to get her to turn back to me, she resisted and gave me an angry whine. So I forged ahead, lifting her up by her torso and hugging her to me. Eventually she submitted enough to have a good cry while I held her, with her hands fisting the front of my shirt.

“Mistress.”

“What?” she asked, sounding perfectly wretched.

_“I_ came for you.”

She pulled back, pushing my hands from her person, and looked at my face. I gave her a tentative smile. “I _know_ ,” she sobbed. “I heard you calling me, and I screamed out your name. The next thing I knew, I was puking up pool water.”

I let her cry, but I did not touch her again.

“I cannot answer as to why two minutes for me seemed like days for you, and I am sorry about that. But you heard me. I would have continued trying to pull you out of there even if it had been much longer. Here, let me show you something.”

I bade her lay back down and lifted my right hand, showing my contract mark to her, and she eyed it warily. I pulled down her comforter, I lifted up her t-shirt to expose her belly.

“What are you…”

She started to fight me, but I asked her to just be calm and she complied. I turned my hand over, and gently rubbed my contract mark against the one on her tummy. I smiled, feeling my skin grow warm until it began to tingle.

She gasped, but not as if she were in pain. “Can you feel that? Can you feel your mark tingling?” She nodded, and I wiped away more tears. “That is the bond of our contract. We are connected, Miss Gilda, completely. As long as these contract marks remain, you and I cannot be separated. Not even if I die. Not _even_ if you are in limbo.”

I’d meant to try and lift her spirits with that last, but she laughed bitterly. “How convenient for you,” she muttered.

I realized the inevitable; that it was going to take me _weeks,_ possibly even the rest of our time together, to get us back to where we were this morning.

“All right, Miss. We will talk about this again when you are not so livid with me.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Demon. If you even _breathe_.”

She flipped over, giving me her back.

Well then. The crisis was averted, for now. If she wanted her fluffy comforter tucked in around her, she could do it herself. I sighed and left her alone.

She sleep-stripped in the middle of the night and removed her shirt, but this time she woke up, shouting something along the lines of _‘get them off of me’_ , but unless she called out my name I was _not_ coming to her aid. She didn’t say a word.

It was looking like I didn’t have to worry about breaking her heart anymore, either.

_‘Enraged’_ she’d be very tasty, too, I suppose.

_Dammit_.

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> Once again, I know nothing about the stock market.   
> An extra-long chappie for you this time, because when I tried to break it in two, it just wouldn’t let me.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

 +

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 9**

 

+

 

_“We cannot experiment with love as freely as we wish._

_It is really a much more complicated topic.”_

-Tad Danielewski

 

+

 

 

On Gilda’s first day back to classes, the snow still hadn’t arrived.

I never cared for it anyway; it only made buttling that much harder. The winter in upstate New York was at least starting out mild, so I took heart that it might stay that way. My mistress told me that a mild winter not the norm in these parts; she said that at this same time last year, she was up to her hips in snow, walking through tunnels outside of the brownstone front of her seedy apartment.

That is, she told me this… _when_ she actually cared to converse with me. I dreaded it, but I knew that things would change between us after her time in limbo and the incident with Faustus. She became cold towards me, which actually hurt.

She was angry, and I no longer held her trust.

This new situation was agitating me so much more than the previous week during the Thanksgiving break, when our house was filled with people for the recent feast. It had been difficult enough stealing time to be alone with her with all those lurking strangers and watchful eyes. That was an inconvenience. This was a genuine rift, and there was no one to blame but ourselves. Her new feelings towards me were preventing me from freely entering her room, waking her, feeding her, scrubbing her clean and dressing her.

_My morning **routine** , _damn it all.

Not to mention, the occasional display of subtle affection – the ones that I felt were even more important to fostering her love for me? Well, that had come to a screeching halt.

The morning after our chat, I had to knock on a closed bedroom door to say good morning, but I was not permitted to enter. She came downstairs some time later, cleaned up, hair fixed and dressed… all this, by herself. I was sullen, but when I noticed her collar was sticking up at an odd angle on one side, I reached out instinctively to correct it.

Gilda recoiled, and swatted my hand away, saying, “I’m not a child. I can do that sort of stuff myself.”

That hurt. I enjoyed looking after her, I really did. There is The Demon, you see, but then there is also The Butler.

The drive to the conservatory was silent. It was her first day back after the attack, and I had a lot to think about, so at least her silence gave me time to consider how I was going to handle our day-to-day routine. I pulled up to the drop-off point, parking behind the other limos. Before I could get out to open her door, I heard her quiet, cold voice.

“Alexander.”

I looked at her in the rear-view mirror. She wasn’t looking back. “Yes, Miss?” I hoped, against all odds, that she was going to ask me if I wanted to check her panties for cleanliness.

_Seeing as how I was not permitted to put them on you this morning, yes, Mistress, I’d like that very much._

“When you kiss me…” She paused, and swallowed hard, looking out her window. Steeling herself, she continued. “Have you been placating me from the start?”

I sighed. I was not able to lie to her, although I wanted to, and very badly. Yes, I _am_ one hell of a butler. But obviously I’d make a lousy human being.

“In a way. It is part of what I do. But not _everything_ I did was to manip–”

“Fucking quit it, Demon. We’ve already got a contract, and as you’ve told me so often, that will _never_ change. So don’t touch me unless you mean it. Either you want me… you actually _like_ me, or you don’t.”

I felt my demon insides boiling with frustration, and I did my best to suppress it from surfacing. But no matter how angry I was, she was more so. And she had every right to be. She had figured out some of my strategy, but… not _completely_. The problem was I couldn’t actually tell her that. Not if I wanted to salvage this contract and get her back to trusting me. To _falling_ for me.

I cannot form contract with humans without manipulating them. But over and above that… Well, I was apprehensiveto tell her how much I wanted her. I was afraid to tell that I didn’t just ‘like’ her; indeed, I _loved_ her.

This is what sets me apart from my colleagues. I am vicious, I am hungry. I want. I need. I will kill to protect, seduce to get what I want, and I enjoy myself when doing either…

But, try as I might not to, I also experience desire _._ I _love_. And that is not common amongst my kind.

 

+

 

I’d spent her first day back at school watching from the trees in my crow form.

The conservatory was a loosely organized campus of five buildings, consisting of instrument labs, orchestra rooms, lecture halls, traditional classrooms, administrative offices, a cafeteria, a nicely landscaped courtyard, and, of all things, a small ‘playground’ with rather expensive swing sets. There were some dorms as well, but they were set further away from the main campus at the base of a grassy hill.

After she’d returned to school back in October, I’d toured the campus with Gilda to meet Dean Daniel Manners, the head of the conservatory, and some of her teachers, with the intent to sniff out trouble. They had all checked out, but I also wanted to familiarize myself with the place.

Just in case.

The security, as I’ve said, was quite adequate, seeing as how most of the students attending were from rich families, and I doubt their parents would have put up with anything less. But I was not taking any chances with trusting her well-being to either alarm systems or other people; not anymore.

When we’d gotten to the swing sets, I questioned their presence.

“Aren’t all of the students here adults? Or at least in their late teens, like you were?”

“No. Some of them are _real_ prodigies. The youngest one here is a little girl from China, Mae Ling, a violinist. She’s only eight. She has a tutor at home in Manhattan, she goes there on the weekends and studies even more so she can get her GED as well. Sweet kid.”

“So these swings are for them?”

She had laughed. “Not really, they are for anybody. Mr. Manners has been the Dean here for a while now, and he’s the one that had these swings put in. He’s pretty much an out-of-the-box thinker.” I was familiar with that expression. It kind of described me, as well.

“He says there is nothing like a good swing when you are troubled or feeling the dreaded _artistic block_. And you know, he’s _right_. We all make it out here for a swing, eventually.”

I had smiled at her. Her openness and deep feelings were liabilities where other demons were concerned, but that she wore her heart on her sleeve around _me_ was adorable. I’d become addicted to that very quickly. Perhaps too quickly.

“Would you like me to push you for a bit, Miss?”

She’d grinned at me.

“Another time. I’m hungry, let’s go home.”

We never did get around to a swing, I’m sorry to say, but now there were more pressing matters to deal with.

I spotted David Taylor on campus once, but there was no time to deal with him just yet. As long as he did not attempt to talk to her or look at her strangely, he could wait a few days. For now my primary concern was getting used to following Gilda around on campus. Taylor, in fact, seemed to be completely disinterested in her, and that was probably because the fool didn’t know that Dismembered Thug of the First Instance had – how do you say? _‘Sold him out’_.

I flew and hopped from building to building as Gilda went through her day, perching on nearby trees to watch from the windows of whatever room she was currently in. But when she entered her favorite piano lab, I knew I was in for some discomfort.

The labs consisted of a series of small rooms for individual practice with one’s chosen instrument, located centrally in the building’s structure. The walls of these labs were designed for the most ideal sound. This was a wonderfully conducive set-up for the students as they perfected their playing abilities, but unfortunately for me, there were no goddamn windows to spy in. I became agitated by this, pecking bugs to death in frustration and waiting it out until she finally appeared at the building’s front door. She was about to walk to her next class, which was a lecture-style instruction on orchestral composition in a different building. Her friend Fortunado was also in that class; he met her at the door, and they walked through the courtyard together.

I hadn’t been able to fully control my irritation at not being able to see her for those two hours. She stopped halfway through their walk, and scratched her tummy through her jacket.

“Gillie? You all right?” Fortune’s voice was laced with concern as he stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. He was privy to what we were doing with her father, and loyal to the secret nature of it. But what had happened to her in the pool yesterday had honestly rattled the decent young man.

The tip of my right wing was tingling, even in my crow form, and apparently so was the mark on her tummy. Usually only direct contact between the marks or her giving me an order would cause such a sensation, but my emotional state was obviously beginning to affect it as well. This was very unprofessional of me, I admit, but it seemed there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Gilda frowned, and she probably knew I was near, but to her credit she did not look around suspiciously. “It’s just dry skin. From the cold weather, that’s all.”

“I have some lotion in my bag. Let’s duck in the lady’s room and I’ll fix you up before OrchComp.”

She knew perfectly well that _lotion_ wasn’t going to help. Plus, that would reveal the mark to Fortunado… not to mention some _human_ would be putting his hands on my Mistress’ person.

Yes. I know. I have _major_ jealously issues.

“Nah, it’s not that bad. Really. Lets just get to class,” she said, putting on her best smile, and taking his arm. Her friend smiled sympathetically and led her to the next class on their schedules.

He was a lovely young man, with great decency. A stalwart friend such as he was probably just what Gilda needed right then. But in that very moment, I still wanted to rip Fortunado Fernandez’s damn arm off.

 

+

 

The ‘OrchComp’ lecture was her last class of the day, and I made the mistake of hopping onto a window ledge to get a better look at her. I should have known that she was too sharp a human not to have paid attention to everything around her, especially with the previous day’s events still fresh in her mind.

Gilda looked up as my crow form struggled for purchase on a ledge, however brief it was. She stared at me for a little bit, then narrowed her eyes. She mouthed the words _‘Fuck you Demon’_ , then shook her head disgustedly and went back to listening to her instructor.

_Bitch_. How I longed to embrace her, right then.

When the class ended, she stood up and shouldered that awful canvas bag, and looked up at me expectantly. I flew off to where I’d left the limo in the conservatory’s parking lot. Transforming in a nearby tree, I dropped to the ground as a fully-dressed butler and entered the limo casually while no one was there to see.

I waited for her at the bottom of the stairs as usual. She kissed young Mr. Fernandez goodbye, and he nodded at me politely.

On the way home, she finally spoke.

“Yeah, I fucking get it. You're everywhere _I_ am."

I had no response to that.

When we got home, I checked the perimeter of the entire property, all one hundred and sixty-seven acres of it, at something close to the speed of light. I examined and secured all the doors and windows in the manor, killing all the insects as I went – thanks to my daily diligence there weren’t many to be found, but a few new ones always made it in. I took great pleasure in killing them. _Slowly_.

Later that evening, while Gilda was composing and practicing in the salon, I finally got up to her room to clean it. I looked for the lipstick blot first thing, almost on instinct. There was nothing on top of the glass surface of the vanity, but sure enough, I found the blot. It was crumpled up in the waste bin. I removed it and put it in my pocket before emptying the bin. Later, while dusting and re-shelving in the library, I un-crumpled my trophy and added it to the collection, sighing sadly. The kiss-mark was horribly distorted.

Oh, _shut up._ I know. I’m _pathetic._

 

+

 

The following week, Gilda managed to beat me to yet another punch and confronted Mr. David Taylor herself. She should have been diligently practicing away, safe in Piano Lab, but of course not, she just _had_ to go and do my job for me.

She’d ditched her time in the lab, and followed Taylor onto the grassy slope some distance from the back of the cafeteria. He’d been walking back to his dorm room alone, and after she grabbed his arm and demanded an explanation, an argument ensued. By the time I flew to her side and transformed, Taylor had a meaty hand wrapped around her wrists and was about to throw her the ground.

I was there between them instantly, as though I’d materialized out of thin air. I removed Taylor’s hand from Gilda’s wrists, which was actually quite easy to accomplish since I’d removed it from his arm to begin with.

The next few things happened very quickly, but I have to tell you that I absolutely love the way a sudden shock can slow down a human’s emotional reactions. It’s _very_ amusing.

Gilda gaped at David Taylor’s hand where it was now clutched in mine. Taylor, however, gaped at his brand new stump.

My Mistress caught on fast, though. “Alex…” she began, pointing at the severed limb as if in a dream, “The _blood_.”

I tore off my jacket, wrapping the hand in it, and shoved it at her roughly. “Hold that for me, just for a moment, if you would please, Mistress,” I said pleasantly, letting go of the jacket after pressing it against her chest. She winced, but not before her instincts told her to _clutch_ before it _dropped_.

Next I ripped off my shirt, the cold not affecting me whatsoever, and wrapped it around Taylor’s stump. It had all happened quickly enough that there were only a few teaspoons of his blood on the grass, which would never be found after the next rainstorm.

Taylor finally processed what had happened, and he sucked in a breath with the intent to begin screaming his head off. I rendered him unconscious before that could happen. Taking his limp body under one arm, I picked Gilda up in the other.

“Put the bundled hand between us, Miss, and cling to my neck.”

Even though she still looked stunned, she did as I asked. I streaked across the campus and stopped at the back of the building that held the instrument labs. I set her to her feet, and took the hand wrapped in my jacket from her. Taylor remained unconscious.

“Do your wrists hurt?”

She rubbed them, but did not answer, staring at me with fear in her eyes.

“Mistress!”

She frowned. “I… I think they’re all right.”

Not good enough. Not for _me_.

“You will please head straight for the piano lab’s schedule board and sign yourself out. Tell the lab’s coordinator that you have taken ill with severe menstrual cramps and are leaving for the day. Leave a text message with Fortunado Fernandez’s cell phone telling him the exact same thing. Do _not_ embellish this story. Then meet me at the bottom of the stairs where I will be waiting with the limousine. Miss?”

She hesitated, looking at Taylor’s limp form where it was slung under my left arm.

“Do not look at him. Mistress, please do as I have asked.”

“You can’t kill him,” she said quickly.

I glanced at Taylor. “I _want_ to,” I managed through clenched teeth. “But there are questions to be answered. Only after that should you order me to do it.”

_“You can’t kill him at all,”_ she hissed.

I gave her a very stern look. Let me reiterate that; a _very_ stern look.

“We can discuss that later, Miss.”

She paled, then nodded, _finally_ , and ran into the building’s back door like a frightened rabbit.

I flew to the limo with my cargo, and tossed the boy, his hand, _and_ my unfortunate clothing, which would have to be destroyed I am sorry to say, into the trunk.

Dammit. I _liked_ that jacket. I had a spare in the limo, not nearly as nice, but I put that on over my bare chest and buttoned it up tight.

Gilda appeared at the top of the stairs looking more than a bit shaken. But she didn’t even stop for a moment, taking the steps two at a time. I glared at her, and considered hopping up to grab her before she tripped and broke something, but those fabulously strong legs of hers brought her down to me in record time. She barreled on, getting in the back of the limo as I held her door open without so much as a peep or a glance sideways.

After getting into the driver’s seat, I slid like a snake through the sliding window that separated driver from Mistress, and had her hands in mine before she could even blink.

“Are you in any pain?” I asked, gently examining the delicate bones of her wrists and fingers through her flesh.

She frowned. She seemed to be doing that quite often around me lately. No blushing, no smirking, just… frowns.

“Nothing’s broken,” she said quietly. “I’ll be okay. Alex… what did you _do_ with him?”

I was angry. Angry with David Taylor, angry all over again with the thug that had drowned her, angry with her useless, selfish, irresponsible father. But most of all, I was angry with _her._

“Have you taken leave of your senses? He could have broken the bones in your wrist!”

Gilda looked at me and gasped. My demonic eyes were glittering, my ears had tightened to sharp points and my fangs had popped out. Black feathers were suddenly falling in the confines of the back seat. I was lucky the tail hadn’t shown up and ripped a hole in my trousers, because I didn’t have an extra pair of those in the limo.

Gilda could not escape; I had her trapped against the back of the seat.

She yanked her hands out of mine, and pressed them to her neck, hopelessly defending bare flesh that was, apparently, far too close to my sharp teeth. She looked like that rabbit again, only as backed into a corner and about to be devoured. Hot, hellish fires burned in my eyes and were reflected in hers, wide and terrified. I bowed my head, anything to avoid meeting that frightened gaze.

“You should not take such chances. Not when I am here to do that sort of thing for you,” I said very gently. By the time I looked back up at her, I’d returned to my human form, and she nodded.

I leaned over and opened the small icebox that was in the back seat, rummaging past the bottles of water and orange juice that she favored. I grabbed an icepack out of the tiny freezer that I’d put in there, thinking of emergencies.

Such as this one. I would take _no_ chances with her hands. That was not negotiable.

“Miss, please give me your hands. _Please.”_

She complied, and I cupped them together very gently, setting them palms up on her lap. I placed the icepack over her wrists, feeling the cubes starting to break apart from where they had fused together in the tiny freezer. I grabbed a bottle of water from the icebox, as well as a container of anti-inflammatory pain medication I kept in there for her.

I opened the pills and the water, and got a dose ready for her. I held the pills in my fingertips, close to her mouth. But she refused to open up and say ‘ah’.

“Indulge me,” I said flatly.

Eyeing me suspiciously, she finally opened her mouth and I placed the tablets on her tongue. I tipped the bottle to her mouth, and she took a few gulps, swallowing.

“Thank you, Miss,” I said, replacing the bottle’s cap and setting it next to her. I slithered into the front seat again and turned the engine over.

“You didn’t answer my question, Demon.”

Her voice was small. I glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, saying, “He, and his hand, are in the trunk.”

She shut her eyes. “Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

She exhaled, and said nothing more.

During the ride home, the boy woke up, and began screaming in fear as well as agony. His cries were loud enough that he could be heard through the back seat, and Gilda looked like she was trying not to vomit.

Once we got home, I helped her out of the limo and carried her ugly canvas bag in for her. I set the bag at the foot of the stairs. The front door to the manor was closed, but I could still hear the boy screaming even if she could not. Turning to her, I said, “Miss Gilda, I must deal with our guest. Will you be all right by yourself for a little while?”

“Yes,” she said emotionlessly. She headed for the stairs.

“I will need to interrogate him. You understand this Mistress?”

She’d stopped at the foot of the stairs, but did not face me. “Yes.”

“I will try to find a way to deal with this without having to end his life, but I cannot promise you that.”

“I know.”

“If I end up needing to dispose of him, I will need your order for that. Just as you did for the thug that drowned you.”

I saw her teeter just slightly, and she grasped the railing’s ornate wooden finial for support.

I glowered behind her. This attitude was highly frustrating for me; it’s not as if I was going ask her to throw the switch _personally_ or anything.

“I will be up to talk with you soon. Please wait for me in your room.”

“All right. Whatever you think is best.”

Steeling myself to her apathy, I cleared my throat and spoke to her sternly. “As you well know, Miss, as long as the contract remains, neither one of us will ever be free of the other. I’d prefer it if we worked these… _conflicts_ out, for both our sakes.”

She nodded, and began to climb the staircase. When she’d barely gotten up a few steps, she stopped, and turned her head. Her gaze never met my eyes.

“You take very good care of me, Alex.”

I winced, and my eyebrows drew together sympathetically. All those words had needed to be spoken, but I could have done so less harshly. She did not wait for a reply, and ran up the stairs the rest of the way, entering her bedroom and closing the door behind her without slamming it.

 

+

 

David Taylor’s interrogation was disappointingly easy. I opened the trunk but kept him in it the entire time – why make another mess to clean? The pain he was experiencing probably helped the speed with which he cooperated, so at least I did not have to hurt him further. After I got him to stop crying, he told me that Linda Derricott asked him to steal the code to the manor’s alarm while he was a guest here. After that, he was to give it to a man that would meet him at the conservatory’s cafeteria on Saturday afternoon. Obviously, that had been the thug.

Taylor’s promised payment for this was free reign to sodomize Miss Linda using any position he pleased. _Honestly._ Quite expectedly, the really humorous part in all this is that she denied him his reward in the end.

Ah… so to speak.

I had severed Taylor’s right hand, and luckily he was a ‘lefty’. Not because of his choice in musical instrument, mind you, because that life was now over for him. What I needed, to please my Mistress, was for him to _write_.

Two letters total, one to Dean Manners and one to his parents, telling them of his decision to abandon his studies at the conservatory to become a missionary in a developing country. That he was sorry if they could not accept his decision, but he had been thinking about this for some time, and life here no longer held any meaning for him, and he wanted desperately to help the world’s unfortunates.

It took several drafts before the letters did not seem coerced, or appeared as though they were written whilst jammed into the trunk of a limousine. When he was finally done, I pat him on the head. I called one of Uncle Rafael’s trusted assistants to help with Taylor’s relocation process. A cleaning crew, consisting of four goons dressed in overhauls driving two separate vans arrived at our door in less than fifteen minutes. Two of the goons exited one van, and tossed Taylor, his hand and my stained clothing into the other van, and it drove off. The goons stayed to cleanse the limo of any blood or fingerprints that may have been left behind, then they left as well, and that was that.

Before her dinner, which was _late_ it shames me to admit, I told Gilda what I had learned, and that I hadn’t needed to kill Taylor, that he was leaving the conservatory, and that she should steer clear of Derricott for the time being.

She was still despondent but she understood what I had told her. She thanked me for handling it, saying that she knew I only attacked him out of a duty to protect her. She said that she didn’t regret what had happened, given that Taylor had played a part in her drowning, but she was still happy that I hadn’t needed to kill him. Most importantly, she said she was touched by the fact that I was so concerned about the health of her hands that I appeared to be thinking of nothing else in that moment, even as there was a broken boy stuffed in the trunk of the limo that needed to be dealt with.

I offered, once again, as I had been doing each and every night since school had resumed, to get her ready for bed. She declined.

The next day was Saturday, and she didn’t speak to me at all.

She spent the morning in the library, finishing the term papers for her lecture classes that were due before the end of the semester, which was coming up soon on the following Friday. She ignored the lunch I brought her, and silently made her way into the salon to practice after finishing in the library.

She was having trouble concentrating and was getting more and more frustrated by the minute, until she finally screamed and said some of the filthiest things I have ever heard, from Gilda’s mouth or anyone else’s, I should add. This little tantrum ended with her banging her fists on the keys of her beloved piano about ten times, and then stomping up to her room, all the while shouting obscenities and incomplete sentences about demons and gods and deals and hell and the like, and then slamming her door shut.

After she made it clear that she was _not_ coming back down for the day, I moved an angry Cat’s Queening Box from the kitchen into the salon and set it about five feet from the hearth, where it would still be kept warm but could easily be seen from Gilda’s bench seat at the piano. A bench seat, I must add, that I have _never_ looked in, as per her orders.

I moved Cat and her soon-to-be-with-us kittens in there with the hope that the sweet feline’s presence would elicit some sort of calming affect on my Mistress. Banging on the keys and cursing, _honestly;_ I never wanted to see Gilda do _that_ again _._ I am a lover of music, both as a demon and as a butler. She may very well be angry with me, but I’d be rather dismayed if our argument began to take a toll on her brilliant musicianship.

Gilda, however, had another method of dealing with her mood this time. After barricading herself in her bedroom – not that a silly closed door would have stopped me if I really needed to get to her – she had apparently called out to Sutcliff.

The crazy Reaper at least had the decency to knock of the front door, which alerted me to his presence, as opposed to his popping right into Gilda’s bedroom without permission – which he has done before, and I gave him a severe warning when that’d happened. It seems to have done the trick.

I don’t know what sort of circumstance he had just arrived from, but his hair was in a ridiculous upsweep, and he was dressed in a floor length, clingy satin evening gown, blood red of course. It was quite obvious that, save a pair of fuck-me-up-the-arse sequined heels, he had _nothing_ else on underneath.

_Gods_. It would be so much easier to live with the fact that I’d allowed him to suck me dry if he didn’t do things that were _this_ outlandish _._

“Hello, Sebas-chan! How’s your _prick_ , darling? Does it miss me?”

Sutcliff was leaning on the doorframe with the elbow of one arm propped above his head. He clutched a string of pearls at his neck with his other hand, gaudy long fingernails painted to match his gown. He was _trying_ to strike a desirable pose just for me, and it might not have been quite as nauseating as it was if he’d bothered to shave off the bright red tufts of hair that were currently poking out from his armpits.

“She’s upstairs in her room, Sutcliff. And I don’t need to remind you that I will rip you to pieces if you–”

“If I cause her any harm, make her experience any undue stress, touch her inappropriately, tell her things about your past, yes, yes, yes, I _get_ it Bassie.”

I glowered, and shut the front door.

In retrospect, I should have listened in on their conversation. But I was tired of fighting with her, and I really didn’t want to listen to Grell Sutcliff as he comforted my Mistress – comfort that _I_ so desperately wanted to be the one supplying her with.

A couple hours later I heard _her_ clacking _her_ heels on the staircase. Yes, there _she_ was. Patting _her_ upsweep and waltzing down the curved staircase of the main hall like _she_ was Norma fucking Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. Except, of course, significantly more demented.

“Oooh, _Bassie!_ Is girlfriend ever _mad_ at you!” Sutcliff said dramatically. He smiled that pointy Cheshire grin at me and giggled.

I lunged for his throat, but he was too quick, even in that damn gown.

“I’d try to be a little more interested in her feelings if I were you,” he said softly, utterly uncharacteristic of him, and then he popped out of existence when I lunged for him a second time.

I landed against a wall. Angry, I punched it, leaving an unsightly hole that I now had to fix.

_Interested in her feelings?_ It made no sense. That’s all I _was_ interested in.

 

+

 

On that following Friday, the last day of Gilda’s current semester, Cat had her kittens. I’d come down early in the day as usual to start breakfast preparations, checking on Cat in the salon before getting to work. And oh, there they were… Perfect little kittens, cuddled up to Cat’s belly as she rested comfortably in the Queening Box. Cat looked very tired, but content, and I cooed my congratulations and sympathies to her as I changed out the dirty bedding as gently as possible.

There were four of them, not five, as I had previously guessed. Two bore the same coat as their mum, both males, and the other two were a dark calico and an orange calico, the dark was male and the orange, a female. They were _so_ adorable; tiny and blind and completely dependent on mummy’s care.

I was thrilled, because for one, it meant more cats, and for two, I was eager to see if the darling little balls of fur would help pull Gilda out of her despondency. No such luck.

She had been dragging herself through the last days of the Fall term since the temper tantrum, just managing to get her school work done. No doubt her grades hadn’t suffered, and her anger towards me had almost completely dissipated. But her vibrancy and zeal, it seemed, had faded along with it.

She still didn’t trust me.

As a crow, I followed her throughout the day. Gilda had turned in her term papers, taken a very long multiple choice exam on the History of Music, and then said her goodbyes to her instructors. She invited a handful of Alexander-Approved friends over for a holiday party, and then she was done for the semester. She’d return to school after the break, in early January, for her final term.

She knew I was watching her, as usual, but she did not seem to care. When the last of the students had left, she turned at the courtyard and headed in a direction that was opposite the main stairs.

She had walked to the swing sets. Gilda dropped her bag carelessly on the ground behind her and got on one of the swings, and just sat. She didn’t move, she just sat staring at a group of thick evergreen trees that lined the drive at the front of the conservatory’s property.

I leapt from the branch I was sitting on and transformed to my cat form in mid-air. Trotting up, I sat directly in front of her, about five feet away. I had no doubt that once she took in my pitch-black coat and red eyes, she’d know it was me.

I stepped tentatively closer to her, just like any cat that is wary of a human. Gilda didn’t move or say anything; she just kept eyeing me. When I was sure she wasn’t going to kick me, I sidled up to where her legs dangled below the swing’s seat, and began rubbing them, winding my lithe body in and out, looking up at her occasionally and mewing.

She smirked unpleasantly. "I know that's you, Alex. Why don't you quit humping my leg and go home? If you’re that frustrated you could work on getting Cat pregnant again.”

Oh… _that_ was mean. But I was not to give up. I put a soft paw on her leg and mewed again, this time mournfully, long and pitiful, a noise that could cause a female cat to lactate. One that no human animal lover could ever ignore.

“Oh, all _right_ … stop wailing already.” She reached down and picked me up carefully, setting my hindquarters on her lap and holding my upper body against her chest. “You’re gonna make me cry with that noise.”

She began stroking my fur from neck to tail, and oh _gods_ it felt good. She scratched my ears with one hand and held me securely by my chest with the other, then she stroked down my back again several more times.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, but you make a good cat, Alex. Very soft.”

**_Why_ ** _am I doing this? You’re finally **touching** me again, you silly girl. Three straight weeks of **nothing** as a human and a crow… two lousy minutes as a cat and you’re all over me.         _

It is much more difficult for me to control instinctual behavior when I am in an animal form if it is not human. When she looked down at my cat face, staring deep into my red eyes, I bumped my pink nose against hers. When she gave me a tiny smile, I rubbed the side of my feline cheek somewhat hard against the underside of her chin. The friction activated the pheromones in the scent gland that resides there, and without actually meaning to, I deposited a chemical marker on my Mistress.

Whether I should have done this or not, it pleased me greatly to know it was there.

“Boy, you’re certainly thorough when _you_ change shape.” She pulled away and smiled softly down at me, wiping her chin off with the back of her hand. “But you don’t have to mark me twice. Stop plying me. I already belong to you, dummy.”

It was the first time in three weeks that she’d allowed me to touch her in a way that was completely unnecessary and purely affectionate. And to my extreme gratification, she was touching me back. _Soothingly_. Perched on her lap, with my paws on her chest, I kneaded the exposed skin at her neck. Closing my eyes and leaning against her, I started to purr. She continued to support me by my thin feline rib cage, and used her free hand to gently press my head to her chest. She actually kissed me on the top of my head and I thought my black heart might explode from happiness. Within moments, I was purring louder and more contentedly than I’d ever had before as a cat.

“Oh, Alex,” she sighed, sounding defeated and tired. I mewed again in response, hoping to convey the fact that I, too, had missed being close.

“It’s getting cold,” she whispered. “Let’s go home.”

Excited at this change in her behavior, I leapt from her lap and ran like the wind to the limo.

 

+

 

Little else happened that night in the way of physical contact, but still, I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from my chest. We had a long ways to go, of course, as she was still not allowing me to bathe and dress her. But she came to my room to say goodnight to me before going to bed, and she left the door to her bedroom open as she slept. That continued, as well as allowing me to wake her and serve her breakfast in the mornings, which did me a world of good.

Little by little, small gestures and touches of affection came back into our relationship. Do not misconstrue me, it was not an astounding amount by any means. She took my hand as proffered when she sat down or got up during meals, or when assisting her in and out of the limo, and also when swimming – and by the way it took some encouragement for her to finally get back into the water, I’ll admit. She wouldn’t go in the first time unless I went in with her, but all she did was laps and all I did was watch.

One night I placed my hand at the small of her back, as we entered a grocery store of all places, and she did not flinch. It wasn’t the most normal behavior for a butler to do this; technically, I should have held the door open for her. _Technically,_ I shouldn’t have even brought her to such a place; our regular foodstuffs were normally delivered to the manor. But she’d had a hankering for some specific brand of Hummus she’d tasted at Fortunado’s house weeks ago, and wanted a container of her own. I was trying to take advantage of every possibility for physical contact that I could, so… we went grocery shopping.

The progress was slow, and I admit, a bit galling.

We hosted a small, early holiday get-together for the staff, Fortunado, Grell – who, let me tell you, _dressed for the occasion_ – and some of her friends from school. It was nice to cook for a large group again.

Uncle Rafael helped me in the kitchen, making some sort of traditional South American dish that he always whipped up for our homesick Fortunado at Christmas time. At least it was not an Italian plate, as I don’t think I could have stood for that, and I did not mind the help, either.

While we were alone in the kitchen, he took the opportunity to ask how Gilda was coping, as well as update me on the situation with her father’s firm.

“Miss is a very strong young woman. No one should have to go through what she did, but she is handling it bravely, I think.”

Rafael nodded, mincing some green chilies. “And you interrogated that Taylor kid.”

It wasn’t a question. “Indeed. And thank you, by the way, for your assistance in that matter. I hear Mr. Taylor has a brand-new career.”

David Taylor was graciously moved to a _very_ Southern climate, where I’m sure the one hundred and eight degree Fahrenheit average daily temperature will be nothing but beneficial to the Canadian’s healing amputation, and that his new co-workers in the coffee bean harvesting industry will not begrudge his disability in the least.

Rafael’s people even provided Taylor’s parents with photographs of the boy smiling with some South American friends at his new address, which was a tent. The pictures showed off stacks of bibles and bottled water on rickety wooden tables, as well as posters of Jesus and rainbows and inspirational messages taped to the tent walls, all the while cleverly hiding Taylor’s lack of two hands.

Rafael’s people are _very_ thorough.

“See,” he began, “That’s what I like about you, Michaelis. You got your head on straight when it comes to certain things. Like stayin’ the course and protecting your own.”

I was touched. _He_ understood. “Why, Uncle Rafael. Thank you. What a lovely compliment.” I turned back to the steaming vat of Soupe aux Chataignes. Ten more minutes, and it’d be ready for puréeing with a modern stick blender. “There is some involvement with that horrid student, Linda Derricott, that I have yet to figure out. I believe that the girl’s father is somehow connected to Bellows’ firm. Perhaps simply as a client, but there may be more to it.”

“What’s her name, again?”

“Derricott. Linda Derricott.”

“You think _she’s_ involved?”

“She does not possess that much intelligence, I’m afraid.”

“Okay. _Derricott_. I’ll look into that. Don’t like loose ends. Not where Fortune or Gillie are concerned.”

“You care for your nephew very much, and you care for Miss Gilda as well. I am grateful to you, Mr. Fernandez.”

He looked at me, shrugging, and blushing slightly. “Them kids is priceless to me. So they make it easy to be concerned.”

He went on to tell me that he was ready to throw Bellows’ firm into Chapter Seven proceedings. Her father’s control over the firm was null and void, the embezzled funds had all been moved and laundered, and all that remained was for the paperwork to be filed. This, then, was the Rolled Fondant Icing on Gilda’s Graduation cake; once Chapter Seven was filed, all his remaining assets and money – not simply what was left of his firm – could be liquidated and awarded to his clients. Bank accounts, houses, cars, toys; all of it. And no matter how much of those things there were, it would never be enough to pay back his clients. They’d be on his back forever. He had taken in and spent a _lot_ of their money on his lifestyle, which is why he had to sell his shares to other investors in the first place.

“And that’ll happen on Christmas Eve. On a Saturday, no less. How fuckin’ poetic, huh?” Rafael blustered, laughing. “You bring Gillie down to Manhattan on the twenty-fourth. I’ve called a board meeting where we’ll hand him the paperwork. And as the new, primary shareholder of Bellows Investments, I really _do_ think she outta be there.”

“I agree,” I said, fantasizing about how she would put the last nail in her father’s proverbial coffin. “Do not worry, I will see to it that she is there.”

The gathering went on until about midnight, and after the last guests left, a tipsy Gilda excused herself to go get cleaned up for bed, without waiting for me to offer to do that for her.

She came to my room some time later, and actually entered it, as opposed to simply hovering at the doorframe. She walked up to where I was sitting at my desk, and put a friendly hand on my shoulder.

“The party was fun, Alex. Everyone had a good time and your cooking was delicious.”

“Thank you Mistress. Did you want me to tuck you in?”

She smiled at me warmly. “No, just wanted to say thanks… and goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Miss. Pleasant dreams.” Gilda smiled at me again with those dark, glassy eyes, then turned and walked a crooked line back to her room to tuck herself in.

I don’t know if it was the alcohol in her system or not, and I didn’t care. She’d touched me and she hadn’t even needed to. She’d smiled at me. _Warmly_.

After she’d held and petted me as a cat, my Gilda Withdrawals had actually gotten worse, not better. And that sleepy, inebriated smile of hers had driven me over the edge. I was hard _, instantly_ , and Sutcliff’s mouth was not going to cut it this time.

It was my turn to be – what do you call it? ‘Horny?’ Yes. I was a horny, horny little devil.

Gods, I wanted her. Our contract, the rules of buttling, and her wayward apprehension towards me be damned – I needed to _touch_ the bitch.

After I was sure she was asleep, I crept into Gilda’s room and waited to see if she was going to remove her shirt, but she never did.

I crept closer. She still smelled of wine. Her breathing was deep and even, and I knew that she was well-and-truly out. Taking advantage of the situation, I removed her shirt carefully. Her bare back – Gods, that has got to be my favorite body part on her – was now before me, the subtle ridges of her spine glistening in the moonlight with a light sheen of alcohol-induced sweat covering her skin. How many times had I stood before her as she sleep-stripped, and imagined what it would be like to reach out and touch? And now, here I was, living out my fantasy.

It was wrong, I know… as her butler, I was supposed to be living only to serve _her_ needs. I reasoned that since she was sound asleep, she didn’t need anything right then.

_Do be kind._ Normally, I have a great deal more control over my genitals as compared to the average human male. But in that moment, the largest concentration of blood in my body was not to be found in my brain.

I reached out with one hand, lightly sliding the pads of my fingers down her spine, feeling the glossy sweat under my fingertips. I kept my touch feather-light, and truly that was all I needed to send my privates into further turmoil. I moved closer to her, spreading both hands over her shoulder blades, up and across, down, tracing every inch of her back, coccyx and neck, stroking, sliding, the barest of contact between the pads of my fingers and her soft skin… I grew harder still, and I relished the pain I experienced as my erection fought against the suddenly-too-tight crotch of my pants.

Nothing like a little pain, at least on my end. Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy inflicting sexual pain on my human partners – unless the sex is part of some sort of a revenge play, that is. That is a different story altogether. But I do enjoy being the recipient of a little sexual pain, at least now and then.

‘Now’ was especially true, because right then, I was being a very naughty butler.

Gilda shifted slightly, and sighed in her sleep – an _adorable_ noise – but she did not wake. I decided to take the risk and expand my area of exploration, and lowered the covers to expose her precious backside. I removed her panties, sliding them down her legs slowly and carefully.

Her round cheeks beckoned. I stroked her flesh, delicately tracing the edge of her hip, all the while keeping one eye on her face to make sure she was not about to wake up. I continued on to her thighs, smoothing my hands up and down her legs, gritting my teeth in an effort to keep from growling.

My cock was screaming for a release, and I could not restrain myself much longer. Returning to touch her back, I felt my testicles begin to tighten. Keeping one hand on her beautiful skin, I grabbed my throbbing genitals through my pants with the other, squeezing myself roughly until it stung.

I shuddered into my orgasm silently, coming in my pants, tight and hot and _so_ uncomfortable. It felt so bloody good I nearly cried.

Except, as I have said, I do not do that.

After I calmed down a bit, I managed to find Gilda’s panties and slipped them back onto her body. I left the shirt on the floor near where she would have tossed it herself. I refused to steal a kiss because in that moment it suddenly seemed like a betrayal, and I’d already done enough of that for one night.

Covering her up, I left her room. I stripped, putting the stained boxers and pants to soak. Such a mess; I noticed that my ejaculate was over twice the normal amount.

Yes indeed, _Sexual Frustration_ , everybody’s favorite aphrodisiac!

I took a shower in the private bath in my room. My intentions were simply to get clean and go back to work, but then there was all that creamy soap and warm water… _Oh dear_. It’s very difficult not to give in to that particular temptation, and seeing as how my behavior that night really couldn’t have gotten any worse, I didn’t even bother trying to deny myself a bit more pleasure.

When I entered her bedroom to wake her up the next day, Gilda mentioned around a jaw-cracking yawn that she’d slept like a rock and felt better than she had in days.

Well, now. I doubt that was just because of the wine. My actions had not been noble even in the least sense of the word, but I’m determined to believe that it’d helped my Mistress to a good night’s sleep, so there is that to consider.

 

+

 

“My _heavens_ … He’s disgusting.”

“He’s a _demon.”_

“He’s disgusting!”

“He’s a demon, and he’s got some substantial junk between his legs, and that makes for _needs_ , and he’s _frustrated_ , and _she_ is _hot.”_

The second one’s head shook in resignation.

“Oh, don’t try and tell me you haven’t noticed the size of his-”

_“I most certainly have **not**.”_

After a long pause, the second one’s resignation changed to disbelief.

“Excuse me, but did you just use the terms ‘junk’ and ‘hot’? I think I liked you better when you were a prude.”

 

+

 

“I know it’s still early, but I wanted to give this to you now, since we’re alone.”

Gilda was holding a large, wrapped present in her hands. She stood before me as I watered the Christmas tree and cleaned the needles from around its base.

“Are you expecting _more_ visitors, Miss?”

“No,” she shrugged. “But with our crowd, you never know. So… here,” she offered, pushing the brightly decorated box in her hands against my chest. I smiled, and moved to sit on the sofa. Gilda sat next to me, keeping a little bit of space between us.

I opened it slowly. To be honest, I’d only ever received about six Christmas presents in my entire life as a demon, so I had learned to enjoy such moments.

Inside the box was a wealth of expensive, useful items for Cat and her babies. Grooming tools, medicated shampoo, salmon jerky, toys, treats, fluffy blankets, holiday-inspired collars with cute little jingle bells on them… many wonderful things.

“This is… Miss Gilda, you _shouldn’t_ have,” was all I could think to say to her.

“Well… just because _we’re_ not getting along doesn’t mean Cat should have to suffer.”

“But Miss… I didn’t get you anything.”

She smiled sarcastically. “Oh, you’ve gotten me plenty.”

“Thank you, Mistress. These are lovely things and I am sure she will appreciate the gesture.”

She smiled shyly, shrugging again. “I just figured it’d make _you_ happy, since you love Cat so much.”

Cat wasn’t the only thing I loved…

Unable to resist, I leaned across the sofa and put a hand to her cheek. I kissed her softly on the lips, quick, and just once. When I pulled my face back, hers was flushed, but she wasn’t smiling. Gilda put her fingertips to her mouth, and I hoped it was because her lips were tingling.

_Mine_ certainly were.

When she looked down, I feared I’d made another mistake. “Mistress?” I asked, hesitating. I suddenly felt a little guilty for having touched her without her knowledge the other night.

Ah… but just to be clear, only a _little._

“Have I offended you?”

“No, that was… really nice, actually.”

“For me as well,” I smiled. “I do not enjoy squabbling with–”

I was about to say, _‘my prey’_ , but that would have been a big mistake.

“It’s okay, Alex. I’m just not sure about us. About where we stand, you know? But it’s nice that you thought to kiss me on your own.”

_Hmm…_

 

+

 

Gilda decided that she wanted to make a jaunt out of our impending trip to New York City, and brave the crowds there for a few days to do some shopping and sight-seeing before we confronted her father at his firm in Manhattan. It was going to be a long drive from where we lived in Essex County, but as I _despised_ human air travel, I would not let her fly, and I wasn’t about to carry her through the trees and woodlands that many miles. It wouldn’t have affected me at all, but it would have been highly uncomfortable for her, and then there was the question of getting our packages home as well, of which I assumed there would be several. So, the limo it was, and I made sure we got an early start.

Evelyn Shapiro and Michael Jacobs agreed to come by the evening after we left and manor-sit for us the rest of the time we’d be gone. I did not want to know what they were going to get up to in their guest bedrooms while we were away, but I knew I’d deduce it all with one sniff of the used sheets when I did the laundry. I gave them Gilda’s cell phone number, and decided to leave them to it.

On the day of our departure, Gilda actually allowed me to resume our entire morning routine!

With the return of one of my greatest joys, I had half a mind to tie her up so that I could wash and feed and caress her all day long like an adored, pampered hostage, but… I managed to _tamp down the glee_. I woke her gently, as she preferred, and presented her with favorite breakfast: Chorizo Sausage and Scrambled Egg Enchilada, lightly covered in Sauce of Mole Verde, with Cayenne-spiced Home Fries on the side – and I am delighted to announce that with Mexican dishes such as that one, she actually prefers strong, sweetened black tea as her beverage, as opposed to coffee.

I picked out her clothing and had her bathed and dressed for traveling by five a.m. Laying out extra food and water for Cat, I examine my pretty pussy and her babies for any illness or injuries. Finding none, I gave her beautiful coat several long strokes and cooed many words of _adieu_ to my precious Cat.

I pulled the limo up to the front door, put our bags in the trunk, handed Gilda into the back seat, and we were on our way. She slept most of the way during the drive down, and I kept glancing at her sleeping form in the rear-view mirror, smirking like an idiot.

Arriving in _NYC,_ I surrendered the limo to the valet at the expensive hotel I’d made reservations at, and checked us in. Gilda behaved perfectly, not speaking to any of the hotel’s employees directly. She put on her best affluent face, and expected me to handle all the details, which I did cheerfully.

The staff was polite and professional. They escorted us up and placed our baggage in what turned out to be a beautiful penthouse suite. There was a full kitchen and a bar, a ‘living’ area with a telly, a nice master bedroom with a large, beautiful bed, and Gilda’s bath was exquisite. I had my own small quarters for propriety’s sake, of course, which featured a small bed, a dresser and a bathroom with a stand-up shower. _Ugh._ I made a mental note to ruffle the bed covers and dirty the shower and sink before each morning, to give the appearance that I’d actually used it.

We had the remainder of that day plus the following two for shopping and having some fun, then we were to meet Rafael, his inside men, and a few of his goons at Bellows’ firm for the ‘board meeting’ scheduled for the morning of Christmas Eve.

I manage to get our things settled before we hit the town for the evening. Gilda decided she just wanted to go to dinner that night, and then take a cab ride to Rockefeller Center to see the tree. I was determined to talk her into a little ice-skating while we were there.

Realizing the _Butler shtick_ was not going to work – especially if I was seen eating, or at least pretending to eat, at a restaurant table with her, or if I wound up putting my arms around her while skating. _Looking_ like her Butler was not an issue; I no longer wore the traditional Butler’s uniform, which would look ridiculous in this day and age I’m sorry to say, but my clothing could easily pass for that of the average impeccably-dressed human male.

It was my behavior that might be questioned. So Gilda told me to act like I was her escort for the night before we took in dinner.

I could have interpreted that in many ways, most of which would have flabbergasted her or been ‘too much too soon’ at that point in our recovery, so I suggested that we behave like brother and sister instead. She accepted this.

We ate at the hotel’s ritzy restaurant, or at least I pretended to, and during her meal she quietly informed me that their _Coquilles Saint-Jacques_ was very good, but not as good as mine. I smiled smugly and she laughed. When we made our way to the street, I got her a cappuccino from a corner stand, and we took a filthy cab ride to the pretty tree, where I skated, she tried to, and we laughed together for two hours. Her pretty bum would have been on the ice all nightlong were it not for me; but I never let her fall, not even for fun, not even once.

Getting home that night, it was time for another bath. I stood there after helping her into the tub, looking quite forlorn as I held a bar of soap in one hand and a washcloth in the other, gazing down at her in that warm, sudsy, _sunken_ pit of paradise.

“Oh _brother,_ Alex.”

Yes. _Brother_. I was to behave like I was her _brother_. Incest, you know, is greatly misunderstood… and highly underrated. Heh.

“Just strip and get in already,” she muttered, smirking.

Sitting behind her, I washed her hair. I rubbed her scalp vigorously as she preferred, which gave rise to a few moans of pleasure. But when I leaned her back to rinse those lovely tresses, she looked away from me. I reminded myself to stop assuming that everything was back to normal between us, because it wasn’t – if we’d ever had a ‘normal’, that is… She wasn’t quite ready to be affectionate with me yet, but things were much better between us.

As I washed her delicate skin clean, I asked her what she wanted to do the next two days. She frowned, and said, ”Other than shopping, and I have no idea where to go for _that_ either, I really don’t know much about any of the sights except for The Met, the Center for the Performing Arts, and of course the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty.”

“Well, there has been no access to the torch since Black Tom in 1916, and in _my_ opinion the statue’s tour simply isn’t what it used to be. That _bridge_ should simply be avoided at all costs.”

“You’ve _been_ in the torch? How cool.”

“Yes. _Ages_ ago. The performing halls you mentioned are quite nice. But there is so much more to be seen. Miss, if I may be so bold, would you permit me to make a schedule for your time here?”

“Permit you? Jeez, I was _hoping_ you would.”

After I dried her skin and hair, and tucked her in – stealing a kiss on her forehead in the process – I sat on the couch and listened to her breathing while I created an exciting and full itinerary for my Mistress.

For the next two days, we were able to stick to our morning routine in the suite, although I ordered room-service breakfast for her begrudgingly, as it was simply not up to my standards. To my delight, Gilda noticed as well and commented on it – “Their hollandaise sauce doesn’t taste a _thing_ like yours, and it doesn’t even taste _good…” –_ Then we went out for the day; shopped, ate, walked, shopped some more, saw some sights, went back to our suite to get dressed for dinner, went to a fancy restaurant, then walked around a bit more.

On our last night of fun, I surprised her by taking her on the Staten Island ferry, and she finally got to see the statue. What I mean is, when the coast was clear, I picked her up in my arms and I ran up the side of Lady Liberty. We sat on the edge of the torch for a long time in companionable silence, just gazing at the nighttime Manhattan skyline. She clung to me when she got cold, and I bundled her up in a blanket that I had stuffed in my overcoat (see? all it takes is a little _planning_ ). She insisted we stay for a bit longer, leaving only when we had just enough time to catch the last ferry back.

It always amazes me how different you humans can be from each other… I never would have pegged Gilda as an ‘adrenaline junkie’ as you say, but I daresay she enjoyed the ride down even more than the ride up, with her eyes wide open and an elated expression all over her face. I’d have to remember that about her.

Later that night back at the suite, there came a quiet knock at the door. A notification, an advertisement to be precise, was slipped in the door’s mail slot and it fell to the carpet as I watched. Gilda looked up from where she was lazing on the couch after her bath, watching an old movie on the TV. I doubt she was even paying attention to it as she seemed to dislike television in general, but I told her to stay put while I saw to the paper.

“What is it?” she asked, sitting up as I examined the paper. “Is it from Uncle Rafael?”

“No, Miss. Do not be concerned, it is simply an ad for an extraneous service the hotel offers.”

“What kind of extraneous service?” she asked curiously, smiling and getting up from the couch in her clingy, light green silk pajamas.

I’d picked those out for her today. Three sets. All soft as a dream, thin and clingy, in muted tones. They left _nothing_ to my imagination as to what was underneath, which was, incidentally, _pure Gilda Franks_. Ah… I so wanted to _touch_ …

“Nothing you’d be interested in, Mistress,” I said matter-of-factly, crumpling the paper and heading for the trash bin in the kitchen.

“What are you hiding?” she said playfully, then tried to grab the paper from my hands. I lifted it high above my head, and smirked down at her as she tried to jump and grab it.

“Alex!” she laughed. “Let me see it!”

It was adorable, watching her jiggle and struggle like that, and feeling the silk of her pajamas as it slid against my body while she clamored for the advert.

“Is that an order, Miss?” I asked, trying not to laugh. She hated that, she’d never do it for something so trivial, so I was safe in assuming that I’d keep her from seeing the paper.

I didn’t _want_ her to see it. If she needed a full-body deep tissue massage, _I_ was the one that would give it to her.

But then–

“Yes.” She stopped jumping and leveled her eyes at me. “It’s an order. Give me the fucking paper, Alex.”

I sighed, and handed it to her.

“Ooh,” she said saucily. “I think I’d like one.”

“Absolutely not,” I retorted tartly. “No stranger will touch you thusly. Not while _I_ am your butler.”

“Oh, come on! Look, it says right here I can request the gender of the masseur!”

“I do not care what _genders_ they offer. It could be a bisexual hermaphrodite for all I care.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Met many of those, have you?”

“Miss, I will not sit idly by and pretend it is acceptable for me to allow such a thing.” She pouted. “If you want one that badly, I am _more_ than qualified–”

“Forget it,” she said curtly, cutting me off. She pushed the crumpled paper back against my chest and walked back to the couch, forcing me to catch the advert before it fell to the carpet.

_No, no no no no **no**!_ I would not lose my footing with her. Not again.

“I’ve upset you,” I stated, but it was more of a question.

She paused, then picked up the remote and silenced the TV. “No,” she said, tentatively, tossing the remote onto the couch. “I’m just not… You’d probably end up giving me _more_ than just a massage, Alex, and I’m not sure I want to go there with you anymore.”

“I’ll behave myself if you will,” I offered, with just the slightest touch of teasing to my voice. Although I wanted to _go there_ , and badly.

She sniffed once, then said, “I should just go to sleep anyhow. Tomorrow is going to be difficult enough. I don’t need to be worrying about _you_ as well.”

“You have nothing to be worried about, Miss, I assure you. I have had extensive conversations with Rafael Fernandez about what will happen, and the required documents have been secured to back it all up.”

She nodded. “That’s good to know.”

“ _And,_ I will be right next to you. I will not let anything happen to you. In fact, I want you to feel free as a bird to say or do anything you want to Norman Bellows. I will keep you safe from harm.”

She nodded again, smiling slightly. “That’s even better to know.”

I smiled back at her, warmly. “It pleases me that you feel that way, Mistress.”

She exhaled, and she really did look like she should have been in bed already. “Will you tuck me in?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

Without asking, I dropped the damn paper and strode right up to her, picking her up in my arms. She squeaked as I carried her to the master suite.

I placed her under the covers of her lavish bed, noting how luxuriously the silk slid against the cotton sheets. The pajamas must have felt wonderful against her skin. Covering her up, I switched off the bedside lamp, and kissed her forehead, once again pilfering what I had no right to. Not just yet.

“Good night, Miss. I had a lovely time in New York City with you. Sleep well.”

As I turned away, she grabbed my wrist. I smiled at this, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Reaching out to grab at my wrists was a charming idiosyncrasy that Gilda displayed specifically with me. To not be able to say something meaningful, something that was clearly on her mind, until I made to leave her for the night… then she’d grab me, stopping me, before I could. It was certainly not the first time she’d done this, but it hadn’t happened since that horrid _thing_ with Faustus.

“Miss?” I asked.

She let go my hand and sat up. She didn’t utter a sound. Gilda reached up with her hands and held my face close to hers. She kissed me, then, tentatively, on the lips. I hesitated before kissing her back, but when I did, I did not change the tack of the kiss. That was for _her_ to do. My hands never even touched her.

She deepened our kiss, but only slightly, and it was over in less than a minute. She released my lips, and leaned back to look at me in the dark, still holding my face. She was not smiling.

“You are still not completely comfortable around me, are you?” I whispered gently.

She paused. “I’m confused. You’re dangerous,” she whispered in return, lowering her hands. “You’re going to kill me, eventually.”

“Yes. I am also protective of what’s mine. I cherish it.”

“You don’t lie. But you hide things from me.”

“There is a distinction. Most of which is done to keep you from harm.”

She looked down, swallowing hard. “You… You want me. And you want me to want you back.”

“Yes, certainly–” I started, and placed one of my own hands on her cheek. “But it is not without affection. Do you believe me?”

“Yes. It’s not without affection… or _motive_.” She looked down again while I cupped her face. “Alex, that voice… Claude Faustus told me some things about how your kind works. How you manipulate your prey to steer the outcome of the contract. So it isn’t… what you feel, it didn’t happen _naturally,_ is what I mean.”

_Fucking Faustus._

I composed a letter in my head: ‘Dear God, It’s me, The Demon. If you let me kill that smug bastard _twice_ , I promise I’ll repent. Seriously. All the best, signed, The Demon.’

“That isn’t entirely correct, Miss Gilda. Much of what I feel for you _did_ happen naturally.”

Not. A damn. _Lie._

She fell silent.

“I feel a natural reaction to the fact that I find you highly desirable.”

“But… there’s the other, too, and how am I supposed to tell the difference? How am I–” she inhaled sharply.

I took one of her hands in my free one. “Your scent… Your _soul_ blossoms every time we kiss. Yes, it reminds me of my objective in this contract. But if you think that is what is foremost in my mind when we kiss each other, you are very mistaken.”

She sniffed. “What _is_ foremost in your mind, Demon?”

I smiled. “Making you feel spectacular, Miss. On a level that only a soul such as yours can reach.” She looked up at me with watery eyes, and I caressed her cheek again, feeling the heat rising there. “Whether that happiness comes by way of making you a pot roast, easing your daily fears and concerns, supplying you with all the free time you want to play your piano… or a full body massage that may or may not result in an orgasm,” and here she laughed, thank the heavens, “It beings me great joy, seeing you reach such heights.”

Gilda leaned her cheek into my hand. For the most part, she appeared satisfied with my answer. I hoped.

“May I kiss you again, Miss?”

She eyed me. “Do you _want_ to?”

“Very much so, yes.”

She paused, and I pretended to hold my breath.

“Okay,” she said, sounding a little sad.

I kissed her for much longer than one minute, but it never got overly erotic or needy. My hands did not wander and she did not clutch at my hair. Just sweet kisses, slow and steady, something we clearly shared a fondness for. She _was_ receptive to me, even sighing a few times. She felt so good. I ignored my hardening penis and made sure that at least her anxiety had dissipated before leaving her for the night. She wasn’t exactly happy, but it was one step closer.

I listened to her breathing from the couch again, just as I had the previous two nights, only this time there was an icepack on my damn crotch. Well, it wasn’t _ice_. It was one of those horrid frozen blue gelatin pack things, and they simply won’t conform to a body part the way an old-fashioned ice pack will. Technology! _Bother_.

In any case, it wasn’t working. My erection, annoying _thing_ that it was, simply would not die. After Gilda fell asleep, I found I had to go into the bathroom in my servant’s quarters, shutting the door behind me so as not to wake her, and masturbate yet again.

When I ejaculated, I whispered her name, and I did _not_ include the honorific.

 

+

 

Bellows’ firm was located in a low-priced office building on the very edge of Manhattan, only just barely being able to claim residence there. We were sitting on a sofa outside of the boardroom, unbeknownst to Norman Bellows, and we were waiting for Rafael Fernandez to welcome us in to the room. Gilda could not make out the conversation behind the closed door as I could, but she certainly knew there was a lot of yelling going on.

He had clearly been trying to lay low from his clients after all the embezzlement. There were open, hastily filled boxes all over, and the place was a general pigsty. His intentions were obviously to abandon both the firm and the office, leaving the aftermath – a thing he was very, _very_ talented at – to the new shareholders.

But that wasn’t in Rafael’s plan. Especially since Bellows had sent a hired thug to rough up the new primary shareholder, one Miss Gilda Louise Franks. Unfortunately for the thug, he did not count on Gilda fighting back, bless her heart, and that had given me the opportunity to have a nice chat with him before rearranging the order of his limbs.

Before we’d checked out of the penthouse suite, I had gone over a few things with her that morning while getting her ready. She knew the basics of what this meeting was about. She knew what the ‘Chapter Seven’ papers were. She and I only had a rudimentary understanding of things, but that was good enough.

She looked damned nice, if I do say so myself, and we had picked out her clothing together in order to bolster her confidence. Her hair was up in a wavy, loosely styled bun, which showed off that pretty neck of hers. She had on a soft, forest green V-neck cabled sweater with thin silver fibers running randomly through the stitches here and there. The matching silver watch, earrings and bracelet she wore screamed of money. A fitted, navy blue faille skirt which rose three inches above her knees was complimented nicely by sheer dark green silk thigh-high stockings, held in place with a finely crafted garter belt assembly, all of which showed off those strong, beautiful legs. Midnight blue pumps with two-inch heels and silver piping completed her festive holiday look.

“They sound really pissed,” she whispered, referring to the conversation between Rafael and Bellows.

“Your father certainly is, Uncle Rafael is not exactly mad so much as he is trying to make an impression. Bellows is resisting.”

Her leg bounced up and down nervously.

“This is gonna work, right Alex?”

I looked over at her, then placed a palm on her bobbing knee. She stopped bouncing her leg and looked up at me. I rubbed her knee gently through the silk stocking, and smiled down at her.

“Please do not be nervous.”

“I can’t help it,” she said, exhibiting a full-body blush for the first time in how long, I couldn’t remember.

All right… That’s not _precisely_ true. It had been twenty-six days, eighteen hours and forty-one minutes since I’d last witnessed her skin flush with _magenta_ from head-to-toe, back when she’d sat on the counter of the sink while I did the dishes, and we’d flirted. I was so happy that I’d managed to talk her out of that hotel massage last night; can you imagine my disappointment if she had given her magenta skin up to a _stranger_ after such a long time?

Loving the feel of her skin through the dark green silk, I rubbed her knee slowly, and the heat began to build under my hand. When I started in with a few gentle squeezes, she tilted her head at me, looking positively fretful.

“Alex…” she said, and it was almost a whine.

“Miss Gilda… No matter what happens, I promise that you will be well taken care of,” I whispered.

I continued stroking her knee, and she bit her lip. My hand – I _swear_ to you, it _wasn’t me_ – skated up her leg a bit to grasp the top of her thigh under the hem of her skirt. The decorative clips of her garter belt bumped up against the heel of my hand, and I did my level best not to disturb the fastening.

Gilda closed her eyes and her brows knit together, which only encouraged me to go further.

My hand turned sideways and slipped down, fingers caressing the inside of her thigh less than three inches from the crotch of her panties. She jumped slightly and clenched her thighs together. My hand stilled, relishing the thought that she had involuntarily trapped it there.

Her eyes opened wide, and I could see she was trembling by the way her earrings glittered. My protective instincts began to clamor. I leaned down closer to her face and she immediately obliged, turning her head towards mine. Gilda looked up at me expectantly, and she raised one hand slightly, perhaps intending to touch my cheek.

I licked my lips as I clutched the flesh of her thigh indulgently, and I was rewarded with a soft, very feminine gasp. I was just about to claim her mouth for my own, when–

The door opened. She jerked away from me. I removed my hand from between her legs immediately, clearing my throat. Then Uncle Rafael leaned out, looking at us with a grin plastered all over his affable face. Gilda turned a darker shade of magenta than normal, and we both stood up.

“C’mon in kids, and say hi to Normie,” Rafael blustered. A simple fellow in many ways, he hadn’t even noticed our behavior.

He held the door open for Gilda, and she walked in, trying not to shake. I was right behind her, and I placed my hands on her shoulders.

There were four people in the room besides us; Bellows, Rafael, our tax lawyer Evelyn Shapiro, and one of Rafael’s largest goons, although for this, he was dressed like a banker.

“Who the fuck are you two?” Bellows spat.

How delightful. It was the first time in Gilda’s life that she had ever been face-to-face with her father, and _that’s_ the first thing he says to her? What a lovely, lovely man.

It had turned out to be a fortuitous thing, however. A soon as Gilda heard the disdain in his voice, as soon as those rude words had been tossed at _her_ , she became angry. I could feel the rage coming off her in waves from where I stood behind her.

I was so very proud.

“Don’t be so rude, Bellows,” Rafael said. “This is our primary shareholder, Miss Gilda Franks.”

“What – _you’re_ G. Franks? I thought you were dead.”

“It didn’t take,” she quipped, sitting down and tossing her purse on the table rudely. “I’ll make this short. Have you signed the Chapter Seven papers?” she asked. Gilda crossed her legs, unconcerned about the edges of her garters peeping out, and looked around the boardroom critically, sniffing her disapproval.

“Fuck you.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“They’re all signed, sweetie. I can file them on my way back home,” Evelyn said very pleasantly.

“Miss Shapiro, is Jacobs…?” I inquired pitifully.

“Still at the manor, still with Cat, and yes they are all doing fine.”

I smiled at her and nodded.

“Are you _kidding_ me? Who the fuck is Cat? And who the fuck are _you_? Her boy-toy?” her asked, gesturing rudely towards Gilda.

Coming around the table, I moved to Bellows’ side, and sat in the chair next to him.

“No sir, I am simply one Hell of a butler. _Her_ butler.”

My demonic eyes flashed, and he went pale.

Once Gilda saw Bellows’ face fall, she relaxed and smiled. “Franks. You remember this name, yes?” She imitated me slightly, making good use of my friendly affectations when dealing with an enemy. She was _utterly_ cheerful towards him.

My back was to her, but I radiated satisfaction towards my Young Miss. She understood. I was there for _her_. Bellows was not going to touch her, ever again. And because of me, she was free to cut the only rope he had left to cling to without fear of retribution.

_I will **always**_ _be there for you, my dear. Fulfilling your every need, until the very end._

Bellows, who had a rather dim expression to begin with, stared at Gilda and narrowed his eyes slowly when realization dawned.

“That _bitch_ , Veronica… You look just like–”

“Oh, she’s dead and gone. And good riddance, too.” Gilda interrupted him, and I could hear the wicked smile in her voice “Anyway, don’t give her the credit _._ _I_ did this to you.”

He paused for a long time, looking at Gilda with disbelief.

“Merry fucking Christmas… _Daddy.”_

The room stilled until Rafael laughed. “Pick your damn jaw up offa the floor, Bellows. Ya look like a numbskull.”

Norman glowered for a moment longer, then lunged at my Mistress over the table. I intervened, of course, and Rafael’s giant banker goon gasped at the fact that he hadn’t even seen me move. I smiled at him as well, seeing the brass knuckles on his hand for the first time.

“That is all right, young man, thank you, but I have him.” He nodded at me and backed away slightly.

Gilda took it all in stride. She huffed a bitter laugh, and looked away from where I had Norman Bellows’ neck in my iron grip. She was completely unconcerned.

_She’s better at this than I thought she’d be. How glorious._

“Miss? Your instructions?”

“Hog tie the fucker and shove a stapler up his ass,” Rafael blurted, and I cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Bellows as I envisioned myself doing just that. His face drained of all color and he gaped at me.

Evelyn Shapiro giggled quietly. “Uncle Rafael!” Gilda scolded, but really, she was laughing. “Just put him back in his chair, Alex. And make sure he’s in it securely.”

I smirked at the man, who was beginning to blubber in my grip. Lifting him off the table and dragging him back to his seat, I dropped him down in it hard.

“Oh, dear. _Please_ forgive me. I’ve wrinkled the collar of your expensive shirt. It’s too bad I do not have my portable steamer with me. I could straighten that out for you, toot sweet! _And while you are still wearing it.”_

 

+

 

On our back to the parking garage of Bellows’ building, I walked behind Gilda like the good servant I am, fairly brimming with pride.

“I am very proud of you, Miss. Very proud, indeed.”

“Why? I hardly did anything. You made all that happen.”

“I am talking about the fact that you just handed him his hat. Very nicely done.” She hadn’t flinched once in her father’s presence, and she made damn sure he knew exactly who it was that’d ruined him. _Good girl._

She smirked at my compliment, but did not look at me. _Minx._

I was still early in the day but we were finally going home. We’d be back to the manor before nightfall, and I was grateful for it. I’d enjoyed watching Gilda have a bit of fun, and I’d _really_ enjoyed the way she’d handled her revenge. But modern cities always smelled chemically foul to me, and frankly, with her trust in me only tentatively renewed, I wanted to get back to our routine… and our solitude.

The attendant returned the limo. I gave him generous tip, and helped my Mistress into the back, relishing the feel of her hand in mine. I shut her door and then took my seat, turning the engine over. I still thought that killing Bellows was the better idea, and I expressed it again as we drove out of the garage.

“Things just aren’t that easy anymore, Alex. If we got caught, and we probably would… we’ve had it. Or, at least, _I’ve_ had it.”

“I would never allow the authorities to imprison you, Miss. I’d find a way.”

She tilted her head and smiled at me sweetly. “I know you would. But this way… Well, let _Norman_ try being poor. We’ll just see how well he does with nothing.”

Clearly this was the pivotal element to the revenge part of her contract. During the last three days, she’d dropped close to six thousand dollars on presents for everyone she cared about, including me – _Lovely! I now had an extremely expensive set of German carving knives and holiday-inspired pie plates made of fine English Porcelain!_ She hadn’t bought one thing for herself except a nutmeg cappuccino and some sheet music. In fact, _I_ liked her money more than she did; it gave me the freedom to buttle in comfort.

She didn’t give a damn about having Bellows’ money. She just wanted him to end up where she’d started.

Balanced. _Even_. That was my Gilda.

 

+

 

“Well, that takes care of the first part of their contract, then. Will you approach the father for what you need?”

“For what _we_ need, I think you meant, and, _yes_ , I will, but only when he is at his lowest point.”

There was a pause while the first one examined the second one – and perhaps too critically, given that neither one’s past could be considered untarnished. “You really are a cruel bastard, you know?”

The second one scoffed, “And yet, I do not see you backing out of our deal.”

 

+

 

A few hours into the drive home, I noticed my Miss was overly-quiet.

She had begged in a sluggish voice that morning to let her sleep in, and I was shocked, because in all our time together, she’d never done that before. Once Gilda was awakened, she was done sleeping.

Although we were on a tight schedule, I’d given the poor thing another hour. At the time, I wrote it off to two days of sightseeing and excitement, or perhaps apprehension about confronting her father. But now, something was off with her.

Gilda suddenly sneezed, cleared her throat, then coughed several times. When the misty fluid of her coughing fit reached my nose, I inhaled, and froze.

Lightening-quick, I pulled over to the side of the state route we were on, screeched to a halt, and scrambled through the sliding window. Pinning her to the soft leather of the back seat with my hands on her upper arms, I saw her eyes bug out.

“ _Alex…_ What are you–?”

“Hush.”

She quieted. I unbuttoned her wool coat, and leaned in closer to that pretty green V-neck sweater, putting my ear on her chest just above her heart. Turning my face into the valley between her sweet breasts, I took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled.

“Oh my god, are you gonna eat my soul right _now?_ In the back of a goddamn limo?”

I leaned back, frowning heavily. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

_“Me?_ You’re the one with your face buried in my tits!”

I sighed. “Miss, do you have a certificate of completion from the conservatory yet?”

“…No.”

“As I said, don’t be ridiculous.” Exhaling, I removed a glove and felt her forehead. “ _Dammit_. I should have been more careful. You tired yourself out with all the shopping and sight-seeing. Your resistance was already down, and that little scene with _Mr. Bellows_ was too much for you, I fear.”

“Why?” she winced. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, my _dear_ Mistress,” I said, stroking her cheek. “I’m afraid you will be suffering miserably from influenza in less than eighteen hours.”

“Aw, _shit._ ”

 

+

 

Nothing comes without a price, as you say.

Gilda became quite ill that very night, first with vomiting, and then with fever and chills. At one point she became slightly delirious, and looked up at me as I swabbed her forehead with a cool, wet cloth.

“You look worried.”

“I am,” I admitted. “I do not enjoy seeing you like this.”

She swallowed hard, wincing. Her throat was quite sore and she was still shaking with chills.

“It’s just the flu, Alex.” She sounded so weak, and I wanted to eradicate the virus for messing with my treasure. Unfortunately, this couldn’t happen because I’d have to eradicate her in the process. “It won’t kill me,” she added, as her eyelids drifted shut.

I decided not to tell her that over the years I’d personally seen thousands of her kind die from ‘just the flu’.

She finally fell asleep around three a.m. The fever was short-lived, lasting just that night, and it’d broken by the next morning. I was so grateful for that I had trouble hiding it from her. But then she felt very uncomfortable, complaining of that prickly-skin feeling that almost always accompanies the muscular aches. She also had a pounding headache. Gilda had a great deal of trouble staying put and trying to sleep, so I sat on her bed by her side throughout the next day and well into the night, reading classic horror novels aloud to her.

“Your speaking voice is _perfect_ for inducing terror, Alexander,” she’d say, and I’d answer with, “Why _thank you_ , Miss Gilda.”

Sometimes we just chatted between her naps. There wasn’t much I could do to help her. Of course I was very sympathetic to her discomfort; despite all our recent quarrelling she was still _my_ Young Miss. But after the fever came down I was not terribly concerned, either. My nose would be able to tell if she needed further care than I could provide, but with the flu, your bodies simply have to wait it out. I made her drink what seemed like gallons of water and orange juice, and gave her ‘over-the-counter’ pain medicine that was approved for use with influenza, and it helped some – but what she really needed was sleep. An entire week’s worth, if I had anything to say about it. Luckily she was still between semesters and had the luxury of just that.

Her friends and the staff were barred from the house. I had no fear of getting sick, and I didn’t care if they did, either. But more people in the manor meant additional germs, and Gilda was already fighting off a nasty one.

 

+

 

Three days into the illness, she requested to get out of bed so that she could sit by the fire in the salon and look outside. I’d carried her downstairs and was bundling her up in a soft chair, happy that she wanted to move about some, but wary that she might make herself too tired and pass out.

Cat had decided to remain in the salon with her kittens since I’d put the Queening Box in the light-filled room. She and her tiny babies were on the floor next to the hearth. She had inspected and cleaned her new offspring’s perfect coats, then she lay down on her side afterwards, content enough to doze as her tiny babies suckled and mewed.

I was wrapping a blanket around Gilda’s feet when I looked up to see her watching Cat with a rapt expression. It was obvious she was admiring the feline’s instinctual behavior as a good and decent mother, and I felt instantly bad for my Mistress. Frowning, I went back to her feet.

“How will you do it, Alex?”

Her voice cut through my concentration and I stopped to look up at her again.

“Pardon, Miss?”

“When you take my soul. How will you do that?”

I shook my head, not wanting to ruin things with such morbid talk. “Really, Miss, let’s not discuss that now.”

“No, I want to know. Will you break my neck?”

“No! That’s… _no._ ” The thought of cracking her pretty neck, so delicate… It gave me a shiver. “Aside from the fact that such a thing would kill you too quickly for my purposes, I would never do anything so brutal.”

“But you _do_ have to kill me, right?”

“Mistress…” I sighed.

“Alex, I think I have a right to know. At least I’m brave enough to ask.”

I finished bundling her feet, and placed a hand on her lap from where I knelt before her. The fire crackled behind me as she sat, patiently, waiting for my answer.

“I need to mortally wound you, so that your soul might seek an exit. When it does, I set my lips to where it exits, which is always the mouth, and… suckle. _Gently_. I take in all of your fleeting soul, swallowing until there is nothing left of it in your body, and it is safely in mine. I feed on it until it withers, and is no more.”

She nodded, looking down at me. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was having trouble focusing. She wasn’t sick with fever anymore, but her temperature was still a bit elevated, and the virus had weakened her.

“I just don’t like surprises, you know? That’s all, that’s why I asked.” I nodded back up at her. She wasn’t crying or nervous; really, nothing about her had changed. “So how will you wound me?”

I frowned. “I have found that biting the neck open at the jugular is the fastest, least painful way to go about it. The wound is sudden and detrimental enough that the soul immediately seeks an exit. I press a hand to the gash I make, which does not stop the bleeding so much as it helps to soothe my prey’s pain as the body bleeds out, slowly. I never break my connection with their bodies until it is a fully done thing. Some, I think, have even felt a certain pleasure in the process – once their consciousness begins to waver, that is. After it is over, I take the corpse to an inconspicuous place, covering it with leaves or dirt, allowing the flora and fauna to do with it as it pleases.”

“So… no dancing around naked in the blood, singing black hymns and howling at the moon?”

I frowned harder, a bit disgusted. I knew she was feeling weak, and teasing. Perhaps making light of it, so as to process this aspect of her unfortunate future… but _really._

“No. No, that’s not your style at all, Alex, is it? Sorry. Bad joke. It’s one long, sweet kiss goodbye,” she whispered, smiling briefly, and I found I could not smile back. Gilda bit her lower lip and looked down. “I suppose there is no way around the pain, but you really do try to be tender about it, don’t you?”

“But of course. I may be a demon, but there is no need for me to be sadistic. It isn’t required, and it’s a needlessly vulgar method.” I stood up and bowed at the waist, putting my hand to my black heart, and she looked back up at me again. “In any case, why would I want to cause one such as yourself that kind of horror or pain, Miss Gilda? You aren’t the type that would ask for it, and even at the end of our contract, I would never desire such a thing,” I said, smiling down at her earnestly.

 

+

 

A week later she was remarkably improved, and actually took some solid food for dinner. I put her hair up and bathed her body in warm, soft water, being very careful not to cause her any undue stress. But when I wrapped her in a fluffy towel and carried her to her bed with the intention to dry her skin, I noticed she was sniffing quietly.

“Miss?” I asked, immediately concerned. “Are you crying?”

She was weakened from her ordeal with the virus, I knew that, so whatever it was that came out of her mouth next I reminded myself not to take it _too_ personally.

“I’m just tired, Alex.”

Instead of laying her body out on the bed, I sat down on the edge and held her in my lap, sensing a good cry might be on its way. I’d seen this before in the past; humans often cried after a long illness. I don’t understand it, but it isn’t something I judge you for, either. Demons do not suffer from such things as colds and flu, so I cannot say. Perhaps it was just from relief knowing that your body was finally recovering.

I was mistaken, however. There were a few tears but Gilda never did start crying. She was just… _sullen_.

“There, there,” I soothed her anyhow, hoping a comforting voice and gentle hands might break through this apathy – I _hated_ it when she felt nothing, as she seemed to have for the last month. Even sobbing would be preferable to her just giving up. “Of course you are tired, Miss, you have been through an ordeal with the flu bug. Now, don’t you worry. I’ll have you right as rain in no–”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cut me off easily, despite how quiet and weak her voice was. “I’m tired of feeling off around you. We were at each other’s throats last month and I couldn’t standit.”

I hummed my agreement, and she gave in, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her towel fell down to her waist but she didn’t even seem to notice. It felt nice, being so close to her bare skin again, and not like when bathing her. I felt the bumps of her spine under my fingertips, the pretty points of her nipples brushing against my shirt, I’d _missed_ this–

“It’s too much. I can’t _do_ this anymore if you’re…”

“I’m what? If I’m _what,_ Miss? You need to tell me. I cannot help you if you don’t tell me exactly what it is that is troubling you.”

She hesitated, and I knew before she even said another peep that she wasn’t going to finish whatever it was that she had started to say.

Oh, terrific. A brand _new_ piece of armor.

“I just want to go back to the touching. And the kissing. Even if you don’t mean it. Even if it’s just the soup that you’re cooking me in, I want it back.”

Appalled at her assessment of my feelings as _that_ superficial, I gently pulled her away from my neck to force her to face me.

“This, still? You still believe that I have absolutely _no_ affectionate feelings for you?”

“I don’t know _what_ you feel, Alex. All I know is that we are in this thing, this contract, together, and it will come to an end and then so will _I_. The only alternative for me is Hell, and… been there, done that, don’t wanna do that again.” She sniffed, and I tugged at the towel to get a corner of it up to her nose and eyes so that I could wipe the moisture away. “I’m stuck, and I asked for this, and I get all that. I just want to make the best of it. I want your affection… even if it’s just some _thing_ you do to get a better cut of meat. I’m giving in, okay?”

Her heart wasn’t broken just yet. This was a new problem; it was her, accepting my emotional limits. She’d wanted me to fall in love with her, to return her budding human feelings. The problem was, I already did love her, but it wasn’t the kind of love she wanted, maybe even needed, from me. How was I going to explain that to her without breaking her heart? And how was I going to express how much I desired her without making myself appear shallow?

Well. I certainly fucked this one up.

All that unbridled exuberance at the discovery of _her_. A pianist. A _composer_ , for Christ’s sake. Damn the artistic crowd and their _wretched_ human feelings that run ten times deeper than the average mortal. What was I thinking? Where was my brain? I knew, right then and there, that I never should have contracted with her in the first place.

But here we were, just as she said, _stuck._ At this rate, either I was going to destroy her, or vice versa… or perhaps both.

I took her face in my hands. She would _listen_.

“I care about you. I _desire_ you. I have told you this.”

_And I’ll break that silly little heart of yours if you expect me to act like your gooey-eyed lover so please don’t ask me anymore questions about that, please, please, **please** … _

I frowned, continuing. “I cannot change the circumstances of our relationship, not without breaking the contract–” she shook her head and her face betrayed the terror she felt at the idea. “I am not going anywhere, Miss Gilda.”

_Not **yet** , anyway._

“But you must understand that what I have to give you is limited by who I am. That can either be the world, or it will never be enough. Only one of those can apply to our situation, and which one depends entirely on you.”

She nodded, taking in what I said. After a long pause, she spoke. “Wanting me is good,” she said, taking a shaky breath. “I can work with that.”

_Ah, but I don’t just want you. There is more to it than that. I love you, and I want your love, all of it, and like the greedy alpha – the one that **you** don’t want to need – I don’t want you to give your love to anyone else, either, ever again, I want you to **fall** for me, terribly, wretchedly, **magnificently** in love with me, head over heels, even if I can’t do that in return–_

“All right,” she said quietly. “I can pretend it’s mostly about sex. Even though you’re different, and I _feel_ different with you… That’s all it’s ever been with every guy before you, so… I’ll just go there with you, too.”

_Dammit. **NO.** Not simply a physical relationship **.** I should explain my actions her. Tell her about my Stupid, Failed, Useless Grand Plan… _

But I didn’t. And I won’t.

Whycouldn’t she just _cooperate_ , for heaven’s sake?

She was still slightly sick, and certainly not thinking clearly. But her germs would have no affect on me, and she was already on her way to being aroused. If I turned her down now, things would get even more difficult than they had been.

Right at that moment all I had to do was appease her physically, and I was more than happy to do that. The rest… the rest I’d deal with later, when it reared its demanding little head again.

I lifted her up her backside, removing the towel from the rest of her body and letting it fall to the floor. While she still held onto my neck, I rolled up my sleeves to my elbows. Gilda watched me do this, and had probably figured out for herself where I was going, but she never said a word. Securing my hands on her bare hips, I looked her in the eyes.

“Do you want the lamp left on, Miss, or shall I turn it off?”

Everything grew still around us. Gilda paused while it sank in that things were about to change between us yet again.

“Can you see in the dark?” she finally asked, quietly.

“Just as well as I can in the light, yes,” I smiled softly. I expected her to ask me to turn the lamp off after revealing such a thing.

“Then just leave it on.”

Telling, that.

I released her hair from the upsweep, removing the pins and letting them fall to the floor next to the damp towel. I ran my hands through her wavy locks, silky soft and fragrant. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, relishing the feel of my fingers combing through her hair.

Laying Gilda’s body down in the center of the bed, I had plenty of room to lie next to her on my side. I slipped my left arm under her back, cradling her neck in the palm of my hand and resting my right hand on her hip.

It began with kisses, of course, gentle and sure, using something familiar that I knew she enjoyed, hoping to ease her into this new territory between us.

My lips found their way to her neck, and her pulse was strong under my open mouth. I touched her, tracing my right hand up and down her thigh, squeezing her hip, caressing her belly and feeling the marks tingle slightly, then up to a breast. Holding her breast, I took the nipple into my mouth. I teased and licked until it hardened against my tongue, then I trailed kisses across her décolletage as I moved to the other breast, and did the same for that pink bud.

Her hands found their way into my hair, and I brushed my fingertips, ever-so-lightly, across the surface of her soft mons. Just as my hand had made contact, she elicited a tiny squeak, and I stopped kissing her breasts to look up at her, questioning my actions.

“Tickles,” she said, almost a whisper.

Well then.

I smirked up at her, but only a little, because I didn’t want her to think I was making fun. My Mistress has a very sensitive mound, and such a thing can be delightfully useful in a woman. I proceeded to do just that – use it.

I kept my eyes on her face, and she looked straight at me while I put my hand back to her mons. Pushing the tips of my fingers against the cushy flesh, I rubbed in small circles, but did not enter the cleft of her vulva.

_Not just yet._

As I rubbed her, a high, keening sound got trapped in her throat. Her eyes clenched shut, and I realized that if I wanted her to come quickly, all I really had to do was continue rubbing circles against her mound. That might make her seem like she’s an easy woman to bring to a climax, and that may yet prove to be true. But more importantly, it was also a sure sign that she enjoyed having the feel of something heavy pushing down against her, right _there_.

Such as, say, _me._

Another time, perhaps… if I could ever turn this bitch of a contract around in my favor.

“You like that, Mistress… Don’t you?” I teased, hoping she might yet take off her new armor, but she did not answer me.

I licked my lips in anticipation of Gilda’s pleasure, and kissed her mouth again, causing her to pull me tighter against her. I allowed her to plunder my mouth for a bit, staying my hand on her mound, which was now slightly enlarged. When she released my lips, I pulled back and lifted my head up slightly, eager to watch how she’d react to what happened next.

Gently, I reached down with my right hand to the inside of her left thigh. I brushed downwards until I hooked my fingers into the back of her knee – Ah! I _adore_ that particular piece of anatomy! – and then pulled her leg up and out, exposing her core for exploration. She offered me no resistance and kept her eyes trained on mine.

Stroking lightly up and down her sex, I could feel that her outer labia were already swollen with blood, slightly parted from all the attention, and coated with her fluid on the edges of the cleft. I dipped my long middle finger in, just an inch, testing the water so to speak, and she hummed with pleasure as she closed her eyes and sank back into her pillow.

My index finger joined the first, and very slowly, so as not to cause her any discomfort, I sank them in deeper together, until my knuckles were pushing upwards against her outer folds. I stilled, letting her get used to this exquisite invasion.

Gilda’s body was trembling, and her inner walls were wrapped deliciously tight around my fingers. Eyes still closed, she removed one hand from where she was still clutching at my hair, and snaked it down between us to grip my wrist.

“All right, Miss?” I asked, my fingers still quiet inside her. She opened her eyes and stared up at me for a moment before nodding just once. Her pupils were dilated, and she looked – how do you say it? _Stoned?_ How ravishing.

I moved my fingers then, slowly but not overly-so… pulling them almost completely out of her body, then back in to the hilt, and paused before doing this again. I slid into her several more times, curling my ring and pinky fingers into a tight ball and pushing those against her perineum each time my fingers slid back into her sex. She gasped with each thrust, until those gasps became cries of pleasure.

Her hand was still wrapped around my wrist, and I could see her fighting with herself _not_ to take over the direction of my movements. I stopped, saying, “May I suggest that you remove your hand from my wrist, Mistress? Your release will be that much better if you cannot anticipate my moves.”

She nodded, and complied. Gilda appeared chastened, almost as though she had been caught doing something inappropriate. She slipped her hand out from between our bodies and placed it on my back, keeping it there like a child who had been disciplined to _not touch_.

_Oh, no._

“Not that I didn’t enjoy it,” I said warmly, kissing the tip of her nose. “Your eagerness is incredibly attractive.”

Her guilty look was replaced with a slightly heartened expression, but only just.

By that time, her core was soaking wet and tight. Fluid was seeping out of her now, pooling on her perineum and dribbling down to coat her anus. I resumed my stroking, enjoying the little smacking noises her sex made as my fingers mingled with her juices.

And… there it was, in all its glory… Her vibrant soul, come up just to teaseme, clamoring for attention and buzzing away just below the surface of her skin, thick with energy and _so_ redolent… Desire shot through me like an arrow, and I had to concentrate like hell to reign myself in.

Ah, but she was making my head spin. Smiling wickedly, I began, “Mistress, you are so–”

My words were cut short when she suddenly pressed a talented finger to my lips, and shook her head sadly.

“Alex…” she said, and I could hear the frustration in her voice. “Don’t, _please_.” She shook her head again and I frowned, confused. “Whatever you were going to say, it doesn’t matter,” Gilda whispered. “Just touch me, all right?”

It made me a bit sad, having her reject my words that way. All of the humans I’d bedded over the centuries, prey or otherwise, seemed to adore the words I spoke to them in the heat of the moment. I always wanted Gilda to know how very unique she was, and right then it was very important to me that she understood that. But I knew how she felt, even if she was mistaken about certain things.

However… straightening out her point of view would simply have to wait.

I nodded, complying as best I could with her wishes. Leaning over her, I kissed her stomach, where I was satisfied to see the muscles of her abdomen trembling with want. Her belly button, an ‘innie’ as you say, was thoroughly inspected, then I licked the contract mark clean as though it were my lifeline to her, and in fact, it was.

I moved further up her body and suckled her taught nipples, and she gasped. I continued, grazing my teeth against her neck. Each part I touched earned me another sweet moan.

Several more times I pushed into her with my fingers, then finally, I added my thumb to the repertoire. I pressed its pad against her clitoral hood, rubbing back and forth against the wet, fleshy covering until my thumb slid under the engorged flap to touch her hardened clitoris. Gilda sat up slightly, breathing fast and arching her back, until she got used to me pressing on that wonderful cluster of nerves.

She lay back down, looking up at me with such longing in her eyes. I continued to hold her there, resting my thumb on that sensitive nub and twirling my fingers inside of her. She was drenched, and I suppressed the urge to put my mouth to all that wetness and taste it for myself. I leaned over her further, cradling her torso tighter, while trailing little kisses along her jaw line until I got to her earlobe. I scooped it into my mouth and suckled for just a moment. Hearing her gasp yet again, I smiled despite our confusing circumstances, and whispered just three words against her ear:

_“Come for me.”_

My voice sounded odd; Gilda’s butler Alexander Michaelis was now mute, and there was nothing but seductive, hungry demon in his place. She must have noticed the change as well, because she shivered in an almost violent way, and her back arched again. She clung to my neck tighter and whined – such a soft, urgent sound, tugging at my black heart, and I knew she was close.

I squeezed her clitoris lightly, cupping it from the inside out, then let it go and began stroking again, still at a steady pace.

Taking her lips I kissed her again, slow and erotic, and between my fingers and my mouth, I maintained a pattern. Gilda matched my pace with her hips and her mouth. She took the sides of my face in her hands, keeping me close, and intensified our kiss.

Oh, how I longed to go further. It would have been the perfect moment to pull my fingers out and put something else inside her – _deep_ inside her.

She moaned into my mouth, and her hips bucked against my hand. Gilda tore her mouth from mine and lolled her head to the side of her pillow. I grinned shamelessly as I watched her – she was positively beautiful, gasping, her eyes shut so very tight, blocking out everything around her save my trespassing fingers and her scrumptious body.

“Faster – Alex–”

I complied, of course, gripping the back of her neck tighter with my hand, _holding_ her there, plunging my fingers in and out of her wet core. She said my name one more time, and then achingly soft cries escaped her mouth. She fell into that dark, wonderful bliss, all the while fisting my collar in her hands at the back of my neck. Turning her hips slightly, she lifted the same knee I’d pushed aside earlier and pressed her thighs together, trapping my fingers inside of her while she rode out her climax.

She’d come quite strong, despite the flu having weakened her. Not wanting to waste the moment, I continued to pleasure her, and I felt the contractions as her walls tried to tug my fingers in deeper still. She came over and over until there was nothing more to be had.

Her body finally slackened. Gilda lay before me on the bed spent and panting. My hand was released when her leg relaxed and her knee fell back against the comforter, sticking out from her side at a vulgar and enticing angle. Unable to stop touching her just yet, I gave her swollen folds a several more strokes, reveling in how very wet she was – **_I_** _did that to her –_ and she looked up at me just before she closed her eyes again, submitting to my continued touch.

This had been much more intense than our little adventure in the bathtub. I anticipated that any further sexual experiences with Gilda would be just as good, and even better when – _if_ – I decided to join her in the fun.

Then again, that could be exactly what I _shouldn’t_ do. Such a conundrum.

I slipped my arm out from under her back, and removed my wet, sticky fingers from her sex slowly. Not being able to stop myself, I dipped them into my mouth and sucked the moisture from my skin, tasting her fluid for the first time. The virus was present, but I did my best to ignore this and just taste _Gilda._ Potent _. Sweet._ When I saw her watching me doing this, I smiled down at her with lust and affection in my eyes, revealing all that I felt, right at that moment.

She didn’t smile back.

I was still unsure about what I was going to do with her, but right then, I was at least happy that she didn’t look frustrated anymore. I leaned over to kiss her again, and she obliged me, sighing long and sweet under my mouth.

I stood up and went to get a warm, wet washcloth from her bath. When I returned, her face was turned away from me and she was gazing out of the window with an indecipherable expression. I did not ask her for permission, I simply did my duty and gently wiped her still-sensitive privates with the soft cloth. She hissed with the first contact of the terry cloth, and I apologized, but she shook her head indicating that my actions had not been taken as cruel. Gilda closed her eyes and lay still, quietly enjoying the attention while I cleansed her as gently as possible until no more sticky fluids remained.

When I was done, I supported her torso with one arm and pulled the covers down underneath her back. Gilda’s body seemed boneless as I tucked her in. I finally turned off her lamp, and she gazed up at me, satisfied and sleepy, but still not smiling. I brushed my fingers across her forehead, feeling for a temperature. I could still smell the influenza inside her, I’d tasted it on my fingers, which had thoroughly irritated me, how _dare_ it get it the way of me sampling her pure taste… but the virus had either expired or was on its way to death.

“Go to sleep, Miss. You still need more rest. Tomorrow is another day.”

 

+

 

Later, as I sat in my room at my desk, I realized that it was no longer a question as to whether or not I was in over my head, because I was now wearing cement shoes while walking on the bottom of a lake.

At least the demon buried deep inside me had quieted for the night, feeling some sense of accomplishment at bringing Gilda to a satisfying release after such a long and unfortunate breach between us. That same demon had, of course, wanted me to go much further and plunge into her warmth with my human cock, getting a satisfying release of his own. If he got too far out of control, I was going to have to transform and pay Cat a visit. Felines being the way felines are, I had no doubt she’d be receptive.

The erection went away all by itself. I am not sure what that meant.

There was this new, much more pressing issue, however… at the _front_ of my brain, where Logic Was All, a completely different atmosphere existed. It was screaming at me, and not all that quietly, either:

_Get out **now** get out, get out, get out…_

 

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> You should thank A Certain FanFic Site, if you are so inclined as to enjoy lemons and limes. My anger with their silly policies has made this fic twice as graphic as I originally intended, not that I’m unhappy about that… 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

 

+

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 10**

 

+

 

 

Gilda went back to school the second week of January with a much smaller schedule for her last term. She had but three scheduled classes; Orchestra, Piano Lab, and Theory of Composition. Her first final, performing with an orchestra, was a grueling five-hour affair and would be judged by no less that four outside professionals. It was scheduled for the first week in April.

Her second final, conducting, was to follow in mid-May. She’d be given her assigned piece and the instrument layout for the orchestra very soon, but the conducting would be done raw; there would be no practice with the actual orchestra (a professional group not associated with the conservatory) beforehand. The test was just as much about grace under pressure and spontaneous performance as it was about the skills associated with leading an orchestra. She was excited and nervous to take that final, but not nearly as worked up as she was with the thought of her piano recital, her last final.

That would happen in early June.

We had about four months remaining as Mistress and Butler, and then our business would be concluded.

As for the present… Well. I’d love to deliver good news. Unfortunately–

The bitch is driving me mad.

She has definitely come back out of that sad, dark little cocoon she was in for all of December. Unfortunately, twas not a butterfly that emerged. More like a wasp.

No. That isn’t accurate, either.

If you can think of the name of a sexually-provocative bug that comes out of her shell after a long hibernation looking exactly the same as she did before, but behaving like she is suddenly a different species, then you’ll have it.

We hadn’t done anything even remotely as intimate as we’d had that night, when her flu had begun to taper off. I could still sense Gilda’s soul on my fingertips like a lingering wound, and it made me yearn for her affection once again.

But something had flipped in her. Something _cruel_.

Lipstick blots? Crumpled, tossed, dying their little deaths in the vanity’s trash bin. Yes, she was _still_ doing that. And I was still saving them, actually, even as distorted as they were. Losing our little tradition had felt like salt in a wound. All I had to do was figure out which one of us was the salt and which the wound.

Bath time wasn’t even fun anymore. Everything had purpose, was structured – standard, routine, expected. When she _did_ decide to flirt with me, she was trite about it, which simply didn’t suit her. But more than that, she was being callous. This horrid attitude of hers was the barrier now.

I do have some standards. Quite a few, actually. Superficial as it may be, I have no problem popping to earth in between contracts for the occasional carnal delight, but I didn’t want _her_ like that. Not my precious Gilda.

One day after we came home from school, she inquired if the staff was in while I removed her wool coat from where I stood behind her. When I replied no, that they only came once a week now, on Tuesdays, she turned suddenly, and groped me rudely while my hands were occupied with her coat.

When I attempted to shift my hips out of her way, the insistent little bitch moved in tandem.

“What? Isn’t this kind of like flirting where you come from?” She squeezed harder. Not enough to cause pain, I don’t believe she’d ever go _there_. But her grip was strong enough to let me know she was serious.

“No,” I said as politely as possible, hanging up her coat and removing her far-too eager hands from my person. “They skip such formalities and move right on to the raping.”

“Oh. Well, it’s not like I haven’t had it _that_ way, either.”

_Such careless words._

“Miss Gilda… actually being raped by a demon cannot possibly compare to…” I closed my eyes, willing the heinous vision of a broken, battered and bleeding Gilda from my mind.

“All right… But… isn’t this better? Me just needing to get off now and then? And look, here’s my loyal butler – a guy I thought was perfectly willing to fuck me blind.”

From bad… to _worse_.

“You keep your emotions in check all the time, right? Well, I can do that too.” She smirked unpleasantly. “Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased.”

I gaped at her. Who the hell was this girl?

“Mistress, I know your recent ordeal with influenza was difficult, but I feel sure it did not compromise your sanity. So I have to ask… do you have a death wish?”

“Why on earth would I need a death wish when I have _you,_ Demon?”

Oh… that stung.

Seeing as how she was not going to get anywhere with either me _or_ my cock, she turned and left me there, more confused than ever.

What did she _want_ from me? What was I missing this time?

 

+

 

By the end of January, I’d fallen into a slightly perverted routine. All right, it was downright depraved.

Every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. It happened whenever I dropped her off at the conservatory. She found a new way of asking it each time, whether it was just the inflection in her voice, or how she worded it… a few times she even said it in a language foreign to her, but it never failed to come out of her snotty little mouth.

_‘Wanna check me for clean underwear, Demon?’_

Feel free to imagine the dulcet tones of _my_ cultured voice mimicking hers because that is precisely what I just did.

Why, _yes_ , as a matter of fact, you pretty little hellion, I’d _love_ to inspect your delicates! For all I know you could have switched them on me this morning and you are wearing the same ones you wore the day before just to piss me off. _It’s working, Mistress._ And while I’m at it, I’ll toss you over my knees and spank the living daylights out of you. Then, when you are crying because of your beet-red bottom, I’ll spank you for crying. And once you have gotten the point and have shut up and are sniffling, I’ll rip those damn panties off and have my way with you for good measure.

I will be rough. And aggressive. _I will scare you._ And I will enjoy that.

Such a state she has brought me to. Truly? _Honestly?_ I do not want to punish her. I’d rather she go back to the sweet, shy, slightly naïve, very enticing person she was before. Perhaps this change in attitude is due to my confession that I can only offer her as much as a demon is able to offer her and nothing more? Or maybe she simply _is_ this frivolous regarding sex and love and it’s only just now emerging. Whatever the cause, Gilda seems hell-bent on proving that she views our intimate relationship as nothing more than a game. She is insensitive to it, to _me,_ as though we are not even comrades anymore.

Worst of all, she thinks her attitude is mutual.

Such deplorable… _feelings_ , and I use the term very loosely, are _not_ mutual. Not at all. The fact is, each time she teases me about her panties, I lose a little more control over myself. Eventually I had to start doing something about it, before I either eviscerated one of her schoolmates or, heaven forbid, yelled at Cat.

She’d do her damn panties-checking act, then giggle at me… _taunting_ me. I’d open the bitch’s door for her at the steps, then I’d watch her delicious, un-spanked bum as it bounced up those stairs. I’d get back in the limo and drive to the parking lot, slamming the vehicle into park. Quickly unzipping my trousers and freeing my hardened genitalia, I’d stroke myself aggressively until I came, clenching my teeth and growling like the demon I am the entire time.

I would like to personally extend my gratitude to the human who invented privacy glass for motor vehicles.

The whole sordid thing usually took all of six seconds… I can remember the first time it happened very vividly. I was very grateful that I’d started keeping a box of tissues in the front seat, because I managed to grab a handful of them before I ejaculated all over my new chauffer’s uniform. Having to dry clean a wool uniform is such a nuisance.

 

+

 

And so it went for the remainder of January and nearly all of February. Over a month and a half! In many ways, it was worse than the previous rough patch, that cold rift. She was going out of her way to prove that she could be shallow and spoiled, and occasionally I had to bite my tongue before nearly calling her ‘Alois’. There were moments where I could have sworn she was channeling that little slut of a boy.

My rational brain said this was not possible… but some paranoid part of me thought it might be.

I was paranoid enough that I was forced into enlisting the services of Grell Sutcliff. I asked him to poke his nose into it, to use his demonic contacts if he even had any, to obtain information on the _true_ state and whereabouts of Claude Faustus and Hannah Annafellows. All it cost me was a kiss…

“Ooh _Bassie!_ And with _tongue,_ if you please!”

_Ugh_. It was disgusting, but I did that much just to satisfy my annoying fears.

Turns out Faustus was no more than the bodiless soul of a demon, as suspected. That pisses me off, because it means I can never, ever kill the prick, ever again.

Faustus could, however, seriously torment Gilda in Hell should she end up there, and with far more dexterity than he had in her version of limbo. He never really ‘was’ in limbo with her, as he can only reside in Hell now. But he had eventually sensed her fugue state, smelling me on her, and established a psychic link to pester her anyway he could… thereby pestering _me_.

His behavior there was odd, even for him, just from Gilda’s description of it. But after Sutcliff got back to me with the requested information, I learned why. Faustus, it seems, had been driven insane by the actions of one Hannah Annafellows.

Also existing as nothing more than the wandering soul of a demon, Annafellows still possessed the souls of Alois Trancy, aka Jim Macken, and his little brother Luka, within her own. Desperate for a sense of belonging to something, _anything_ – which is the most painful thing about being a bodiless soul, I’m afraid; for the most part it’s permanent and can be quite maddening, especially for a human – Faustus earned a reputation in Hell for pestering Annafellows relentlessly, begging for that sweet, brief, _temporary_ coalescence that two wandering souls may engage in, but his only purpose in doing so was to be close to Alois.

Perhaps demons _can_ fall in love with humans. At least, that’s how it seemed to go for Faustus.

Eventually, Annafellows tired of his harassment. His affection for the boy quickly turned into obsession. Luka became quite disturbed at being pushed aside so that Faustus could rub his soul against Trancy’s, pervert at heart that he is, and Alois himself began to feel dread at the thought of Claude entering Annafellows and smothering him, even if just for a few moments.

She’d begun to deny his every request. When there was no break to be had from his badgering, Annafellows talked a fellow demon into distracting Faustus for just a few moments, and she fled, taking the boys with her.

Hell, you may not know, is a _very_ big place. It is infinitely large, like it’s divine counterpart. Therefore, Faustus is not likely to find Annafellows ever again. Hence his continued madness.

I am not going to deny that this news made me chuckle. However, no matter how angry I am with Faustus, I am angrier still with Annafellows. She knows to avoid my presence, I believe, and I can live with not seeking her out any further. Should she encounter me, however, there are a few demonic methods I know of to ensnare even a bodiless soul.

I will _not_ be gentle.

That only leaves the most pressing issue, which is to keep Gilda from landing in Hell. No matter how much of a brat she is being to me right now, I do love the girl. Even at the risk of losing her soul as my meal, I cannot bear the thought of what Faustus would do to her.

 

+

 

I can be very patient.

But not unexpectedly, the day finally came where I could no longer take her crap.

“…check my underwear, Demon?”

I could also move faster than the speed of light, if I wanted to.

She looked up at me, gaping, doing that familiar ‘o’ thing with her lips, as I had leapt from the front seat into the back through that little window, and turned and pushed her body until she was laying across the seat. I was kneeling in between her legs, having pushed one to the side where it dangled off the seat, and tossed the other one over my shoulder.

“Shall I unfasten your pants, or do you want to do that for me?” I asked politely, but with an undertone of threat.

“W-What are you _doing?”_

She sounded frightened. _Good_.

“Me? Why Miss Gilda, I am checking that your panties are clean, of course.”

She was staring up at me, flabbergasted, from under those long black eyelashes. The filtered light from the limo’s windows was playing across her face, making her dark green eyes glitter.

“I… I’m…”

Speechless. _Finally._

I reached across her hip with one hand, never taking my eyes off of hers, and undid the riveted clasp of her blue jeans. I heard her whimper as my fingertips gripped the zipper’s pull. Such a delightful sound from her – it made my cock twitch. I wanted to take her very badly, but I _refused_ to give in. Still, my eyes – it was involuntary, I tell you, falling right in line with the erection – had that pink demonic glow to them, and I knew she saw it because her eyes widened slightly and her pulse sped up. I had to be careful lest I turn completely demon on her and give her a _real_ scare. That was not my intention. I simply wanted to make her realize how dangerous a game it was that she had been playing with me all these weeks.

Moving forward, I held the zipper pull tightly and tugged downward, achingly slow. Gilda gripped the edge of the seat with one hand, and clutched the front of her very dark blue woven cotton button down shirt with the other.

Oh. _She is **wrinkling** it._

I liked ironing. Almost as much as sex.

I shivered slightly, too slight for her to perceive, and got my head back to the task at hand.

When the zipper began to open, the first view of her panties came into sharp focus, as did the heady fragrance she was giving off.

_Ahh…_ Plain white cotton. It was a _miracle_ , I tell you.

I smiled, and licked my lips.

“Demon…” she started, her voice no more than a plea.

“Yes, Mistress?” I asked, mine as light as a butterfly. I glanced up from the white triangle of her panties peeking out between the zipper’s open teeth, having to drag my eyes away from my goal, and looked down at her flushed face. “What is it?”

“Is… Are these windows… Can you…”

She was having trouble forming a complete sentence, but I knew exactly what she was asking. There were, after all, people milling about, just outside of our limo.

“One-way glass, my dear Mistress, and the limo is sound proof as well.”

She stared at me a moment longer, then her mouth parted slightly. It was all the encouragement I needed. I tossed the leg on my shoulder over to the same side as the other one and yanked her jeans off in one smooth motion, liquid fast. Her hideous shoes disappeared with them as I dropped the whole insult of a garment to the floor of the limo. Tossing her leg back onto my shoulder, I shoved her button down shirt and the hand clutching it out of the way, wrinkles be damned, and exposed the lower half of her body.

The cotton panties lay before me then, ready for my meticulous inspection. I could already tell they were clean.

_For now._

Delicately, I traced the inside edge of the waistband with one finger, my black fingernail brushing against her skin as it tested the strength of the elastic. I pulled outwards, just a little bit on the one side, then released it to let it snap back into place. Gilda elicited a gasp, much to my satisfaction.

“Well, the band is strong, so they are new. That’s always nice,” I said quietly. She shivered. I leaned forward and buried my nose in the cotton, just at the tip of her cleft, which earned me a lovely groan. Taking a deep whiff, I held it, then exhaled long. “Smells very clean,” I stated, looking back up the length of her torso to her eyes. “Smells like laundry soap... and my _Mistress,”_ I purred, moving back up to kiss her navel.

“Oh, _man…”_ she breathed, closing her eyes. He head lolled back, which was her usual sign of submission when it came to me. “Just… Just… Oh, I don’t even _know,”_ she muttered.

I chuckled, and reached down with my free hand to raise the leg hanging off of the seat. Tossing it over my shoulder with the other one, I was able to gently grip the sides of the panties and pull them up to her knees – slowly, mind you, I was feeling vindictive and I wanted to unhinge her as much as she’d been doing to me. I dragged them over her knees and slid them down her calves, over her ankles, her feet, until they were little more than a white scarf, dangling from my fingers.

I removed the leg from my shoulder that had been on the seat, and put it back, exposing her privates to me. Labia slightly parted, I could already see the moisture gathering there and her scent practically slammed into my sensitive nose. My head began to reel and I honestly felt like growling, but I kept my composure… at least on the surface.

Gilda stared up at me as I pretended not to notice the naked, growing-ever-juicier female parts of my beloved Mistress looming below me, even though the image of just exactly that was flooding my mind now, trying and mostly succeeding in pushing every other thought from my brain. I bit my tongue, and inspected the panties instead.

“Quite clean, although there is a tiny bit of moisture on the crotch. I do wonder about that; you were in a bath tub less than ninety minutes ago, so how did _that_ get there?” I dropped the panties to the floor and leered at her. “Let’s have a look-see, shall we?”

She bit her lip as I pushed her leg up, just enough to expose her further. I reached down with one hand and caressed the edges of her labia with a knuckle, not being invasive… _not just yet._

“Well, you don’t _feel_ all that wet,” I exaggerated, smiling, “But I could be mistaken.”

Gilda smirked the tiniest little smirk as she tossed her forearm over her eyes. “I’m just gonna go with this, okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said, velvet-smooth. “A wise course of action, Miss Gilda.” Leaning down, my mouth less than three inches away, I could feel the heat pouring out of her already. I placed two fingers just inside of her opening, separating the lips and running my fingers up and down until she parted further and opened up easily for me.

_Good girl._

She was pink, and slick, and very, very warm. I decided it was time to tease. “Oh, this won’t do. Here you are all wet, and for no apparent reason. If I put your panties back on you now, they will most _certainly_ get stained. What sort of a butler would I be if I allowed _that_ to happen? I’m just going to have to clean you up first.”

_“Fuck,”_ she muttered.

_No,_ I thought. **_That_** _will have to wait._

I slipped my hands under her fabulous backside, holding her securely, and lowered my mouth to her body. I started with a small kiss on her sensitive mons, and as expected, she shivered. Smiling up at her, I kissed her there again and again, relishing the small whines she elicited. She was trying so hard not to react, the poor dear.

I should tell you, at this time, that I could kiss Gilda’s mound forever, and I would still not tire of it. During sex with a female, the mons should be treated as a segue, and it should be lingered on in an indulgent fashion.

Such amazing parts to your bodies, some of which I simply cannot get enough! My very first worthy soul, the Duchess Estrilda Torylox – a rather cruel woman who taught me the merit of a good beating – had the most alluring smile. She was in her late thirties, and the way the delicate skin crinkled around her eyes when she laughed was unbearably attractive. You call them ‘crow’s feet’? And to think you seek to rid yourself of them! Well, this is one crow that could have walked his feet all over her beautiful face, day in and day out.

Ciel Phantomhive? He had an absolutely perfect little rump. The blue of his eye when he glared at me was ravishing. The smooth skin on Gilda’s back begs to be touched, as you well know.

Her plump lower lip when she bites it. Louis DeBrena’s well-defined collarbone. The clitoris. The foreskin. The nipples, the tongue, the navel, the–

_Sorry_. Drifting…

As we were not in an eternal paradise, I forced myself to leave behind Gilda’s _Mount of Venus_ and I moved forward…

I added more kisses, just tiny little pecks on either side of her labia, as I worked my way to her center. Then I pulled back slightly and licked the surface, just enough to cause her to squeal. Smiling at this new reaction, I began to lap at her, steady and slow, each time sinking my tongue into her a tiny bit more. When she began to writhe under me, my hands came up to her hips, and I gripped them tightly. I looked up to see long, pointy fingernails – not perfectly trimmed human ones – the shiny black of which were digging into her pale skin.

_Oh my… first the eyes, now the hands. Steady, old boy._

She let out a cry as I held her down. “Now Mistress,” I said, my voice muffled against her, “You mustn’t fight me.” I kissed her inner thigh, then moved back up to lick her again. I flattened my tongue against her clitoris briefly and felt her body tense up for a moment. I pulled back, and looked at her, enjoying what I was seeing.

“This is for your own good, after all.”

Gilda snickered. I dove into my task with vigor then, licking her clean just as I promised. By then I knew that not only had my eyes and hands reverted to their demonic state, but so had my tongue, as I felt it split into it’s forked form, lengthen, thicken, and delve into her… deeper than any human could, in and out, over and over. My tongue returned to her clit and labia, twirling and writhing with inhuman skill. I was determined to sample every bit of what was before me. She was _so_ delicious, so hot and slick with moisture.

When I tasted what was obviously a sensitive spot, Gilda’s torso twisted, then she sat up slightly. She reached out with her hands and greedily wound her fingers into my hair, and _pulled_. I ignored the pain, fascinated by her response, and felt an enormous swell of gratification when she put the soles of her feet on my shoulders and shimmied her hips forward, getting her swollen privates just _that_ much closer to my mouth. I buried my face in her, sinking my mouth deep into her open cleft, and licked ferociously. When her fingers clutched at my hair with abandon, I knew she was close to her climax.

Briefly I wondered if any of her human lovers had excited her to the point where she had lost herself as she was doing with me, now.

I could smell her soul, brimming up inside of her, ready to bare itself once again before that eternal mystery known as sex, lurking just under my plundering mouth like a curious, brave, beautiful fish, following your finger as it drags across the glass surface of an aquarium.

It was _right there_. All I had to do was to hold her down and viciously bite and tear at her flesh, and I could taste it, briefly, before it escaped my clutches as it fled her dying body. But of course a _taste_ was simply not enough. It would be such a tragic waste. I had to wait for the contract to be fulfilled. Only a skilled demon such as myself could recognize the merit in holding back their instincts while bringing a human to the edge of such passion as this.

“Alex…”

Her voice, barely a whisper, cut through me like a blade.

It suddenly dawned on me – that was the first time Gilda had spoken my name since getting over the flu. All this time she either didn’t address me at all, or had used the impersonal ‘Demon’. I’d been so preoccupied just being _angry_ with her that I hadn’t realized it until just then, right as it slipped out of her pretty mouth. I had missed it.

Gilda’s body shook, stiffened, and I felt her hit her orgasm hard as the walls of her sex massaged and pulled at my tongue, still deep inside her. She yanked on my hair and cried out my name again, whimpering, and it sounded so sweet to my ears. My face was still hidden from her, and I smiled wickedly against her sex as I realized… I had won this battle.

Not the war, of course. Not yet. But this battle was _mine._

Eventually she relaxed her grip on my hair and fell back to where she was laying across the seat again. I listened to her heavy breathing as it slowed, and I licked away as much of the moisture from her labia as I felt was necessary for her own comfort. Reluctantly, I admit, I finally pulled away and sat back up, still on my knees.

“I… so _bad_ … almost suffocated you,” she breathed, still trying to come back down to earth.

I smiled down at her softly. “But I do not breathe, Miss.” When she did not react to that, I continued. “You are a very passionate human, Mistress. I am sure your soul will taste of nothing less than ambrosia,” I finally allowed, and she opened her eyes to look up at me. My own were still pink and glowing with the embers of Hell. My fingernails were still long. Gilda sat up then, ignoring that she was nude from the waist down. I put a hand to the small of her back to support her as she brought her palms up to my chest. She looked up into my eyes, frowning, then reached down to my free hand, and inspected my nails. Looking back up into my eyes, she ordered me to open my mouth.

I tilted my head at her. I was having a little bit of trouble getting my demonic nature to return to its hiding place, given that Gilda’s excitement had worn off on me a bit. I really didn’t enjoy having my prey see my demon form, even if it was just a little part of it.

“Stick out your tongue, Alex,” she ordered again.

I sighed, and complied, and the slick black snake in my mouth poked itself out from between my perfect human lips.

She gasped, eyes wide, but did not look frightened. Gilda reached out to run a fingertip along the dark surface, until she got to the forked end, and she played with the two wet points, ever so gently. That made me shiver, and _that_ made her smile.

“I felt that,” she whispered, “deep inside me, I felt your tongue change.”

The sudden change in her attitude that this bout of intimacy had brought on was immense. She was interested. _Bashful_ , even. It was as though these last seven weeks hadn’t even happened. The taunting bitch was gone, no loss there, and in her place was the one I had longed for, my sweet Miss.

The look in her eyes was… I sucked my tongue back in as I was a bit put off by what I saw on her face. There was earnest affection there. Maybe even–

_Love._

“Alex, I know who you are. Why do you hide this stuff from me?”

Before I could say anything, she was pulling me to her for a kiss, no doubt wanting to feel more of that magic tongue that I’d besotted her with. But to my great surprise, she never went that far. She kissed me, so I kissed her back, and our mouths were slightly open but the kiss was not what one would consider ‘French’. The point being, she wasn’t trying to force my forked tongue out to play again. Gilda simply wanted to kiss me.

This was post-coital bliss, and even as I was enjoying kissing her, now I wondered if I should l have gone as far as I had.

Eventually my human form fully returned while Gilda worked her way into my lap, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, kissing me deeply. I acquiesced – of _course_ I did, it was _kissing_ for heaven’s sake – but all I could think about was her privates brushing up against me, and her fluid staining the front of my shirt… I’d smell it there after she left me for the day, and it was going to drive me _insane_ with _want_ –

She broke from my lips, and kissed her way up to my ear, where she whispered something about ditching her classes and going back to bed. I’m pretty sure she meant for me to join her. She kissed me again, clutching my hair in her hands, and I loved the way it hurt.

My pants were suddenly too tight again.

“Alex,” she said, smiling at me with heavy-lidded eyes, and her feelings – _those_ feelings – were written all over her face.

There it is.

Even if she thought she was kidding around, she wasn’t, her scent had betrayed her, she was falling and…

_And it was too soon._

It wasn’t even March yet. She wouldn’t graduate until June. I’d never be able to sustain–

She quipped something about her first class in-between a few sweet little pecks, and slid off my lap.

I got her panties, jeans and shoes back on her, and smoothed out her hair and make up. She couldn’t stop smiling at me. While some part of me was thrilled at that, the rest of me heard warning bells going off. When she grabbed my tie and pulled me in for one last kiss, I felt a familiar sense of dread creeping up my spine.

I popped back into the front seat, put my chauffer’s jacket and hat back on, exited out the driver’s door, and opened Gilda’s door for her. When she took my hand and rose from the limo, I heard her sigh contentedly.

“If I have made you late for your first class, Mistress, I do apologize. I can speak with your Orchestra professor and explain to her that it was entirely my fault if necess–”

“Who the fuck cares?” she said lazily, smiling. “I’ll see you at two-thirty, Alex.” She looked up at me with glassy eyes and flushed skin, biting that delicious lower lip around a smirk, and it was all I could do not to throw her back into the limo and eat her alive.

Literally.

I wondered what was going to happen when we got home that night. And which one of us was going to start it.

There was also the issue of how I was going to get through the day. If I watched her as a cat, no doubt I’d be running up to her side and humping her leg between classes. Could crows masturbate against tree limbs and power lines and the like without making a spectacle of themselves, I wondered? Perhaps I could find a naïve sparrow and rape it to ease the time.

“Yes, Miss. Have a good day,” I managed. She smiled up at me again and bounced up the stairs.

 

+

 

“You smell good, Alex.”

We were on her bed. Gilda was hugging her knees to her chest, sitting with her back to my front. I was combing out her clean, glossy locks from where I kneeled behind her. Dinner and bath time had gone by with minimal conversation and no further intimacy.

Smiling, I returned with, “What do I smell like?”

Pausing a moment, she said, “Spanish Cedar.”

“The sort they use for clothes hangers and jewelry boxes and the like?”

“Yup. You’ve smelled like that since the first time I met you, at that café, but I’ve only just realized it.”

“I see. This is a pleasing odor?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it is to _me.”_

“Well then, I thank you for the compliment.”

I smelled different to each and every prey, and there was _always_ a story behind it. She fell silent, and I was very tempted to ask her what it was about the fragrant wood that pleased her so much. But she wasn’t offering any more details, and I had learned in the past with Gilda that pushing her for personal information was not always the best route.

And to be honest, with this particular subject, I _hated_ having to ask. I preferred that the prey tell me, and in their own time.

I eventually learned that I’d smelled like Linseed oil to Louis DeBrena and clean white paper to Linda Smith. Both these things reminded them of the professions that they had loved so well. Alois Trancy had told me I smelled ‘nice’ the first time we met, but I couldn’t have cared less what that fucking brat thought I smelled like.

Ciel Phantomhive, lover of sweets, had told me (in a rare moment of weakness) that I’d smelled like the fig pudding his mother had made every year for Christmas.

I never could anticipate how my human body’s chemistry was going to adjust to please my prey, but there was always an element of comfort to it. Most demons use intense pheromones as a sophisticated weapon against their prey, but I preferred to think of this as part of my charm.

“Speaking of smelling, what did you mean about me smelling like ambrosia?”

Her quiet voice cut through my thoughts and I stopped combing out her hair to ponder how to react to what she’d said. It was now Gilda’s bedtime, but that was the first thing she’d said since I picked her up after school that made any reference whatsoever to the cunnilingus I had performed on her that morning.

It wasn’t like we hadn’t talked at all throughout the day; we had. But as I said, it had been minimal. We’d only exchanged pleasantries – _How was school. Fine. Hey I saw you watching me in the trees today. I’ll have to be more discreet next time. Would you like something specific for dinner. Oh just some kinda cow and potatoes._

I was expecting something along the lines of: _By the way that felt super. Do it again Alex. **Right now.** Certainly Miss Gilda. Shall I carry you to your bed or shall I just clear a table in the salon._

Sorry. I _do_ tend to amuse myself at times.

I realized I had to say _something_ in response. But I needed to keep it vague.

“The potency of a soul such as yours is intensified when you feel something fervently.”

Yes. There we are. _Vague._ Fervent fear, fervent hate, fervent grief – none of those were desirable with this particular contract but they’d all work. I’d answered Gilda’s question but I said nothing to the specific emotion; so, not a lie.

She paused before moving on. “I’ve been teasing you too much lately with that underwear thing. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Well. Yes, about that. My behavior was atrocious. I went too far without asking. I am sorry as well.”

She released her knees from the circle of her arms, and looked up and back at me with an incredulous expression.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. No I am not,” I replied, truly confused. “I admit that your teasing had become something of an issue, and you should try to refrain from doing it to me as _much_ as you do. But, as your butler, I acted inappropriately.”

She turned back to let me finish combing her hair out. The wavy strands slipped through my fingers like silk, fresh from her bath, clean and dry. I found her hair somewhat hypnotizing when I was combing it, so some time had passed before I realized she had fallen silent and her mood had changed.

“Mistress?”

She was frowning. “So, what you’re saying is… that’s never gonna happen again, is it?”

“On the contrary,” I said, setting the comb down on the nightstand and placing my hands on her shoulders. “Give me the order, and I will ravish your body right now,” I whispered in her ear, and felt her shiver.

“But, Alex,” she said, pulling her ear away from my mouth. “I didn’t _order_ you this morning.”

“That was what I meant by acting inappropriately. It won’t happen again.”

“So… what you are saying is that you did what you did this morning because you _wanted_ to?”

She was cornering me. _And I was letting her._

I needed to say goodnight and get out of her bedroom.

“Yes,” I finally replied, telling her the truth.

“But if I want that to happen again, I’ll have to _order_ you to do it?”

I hesitated, just a moment, because I could already hear the disappointment in her voice.

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Gee. That makes me feel really special,” she muttered, her voice dripping with scorn.

“Mistress, you must understand–”

“Jesus, you confuse the _shit_ out of me! The day you first approached me, when you said that you’d _gladly_ fuck me senseless whether we contracted or not – was that a lie?”

_“No,_ I told you, I do not lie. But that was befo–”

“So now we have a contract together, and you don’t want me like that anymore? This morning was just revenge for the teasing, and nothing else?”

“That is not true, I find you _very_ alluring.”

“Yeah… Just as long as I _order_ you to, you mean,” she mumbled bitterly. I didn’t like that.

“You misunderstand the situation.”

“Do I? Fill me in, then.”

“Tell me what to do, and I will do it,” I said, pulling her back tight against my front, trailing my fingertips down her bare arms. “Tell me to tease you until you are screaming for a finish, and I will happily give you that finish. Tell me to take you by force, and I will tire you out with a song in my black heart. Tell me to lavish tenderness on you slowly, and I will do so in a way that you will never, _ever_ forget. Tell me what to do. I am yours to command.”

“All right, Alexander,” she whispered, tilting her head back to give me access to her face. “Can I order you to _want_ to do all those things?”

I froze. I already did _want_ to do all that _,_ but that wasn’t…

She waited a beat, then smirked unpleasantly. “Didn’t think so.” She pulled away from me then, and got up from the bed. Walking to her bedroom door, Gilda pulled it open fully and then turned back to me. “I need to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. Turning in my composition to the Dean’s board to see if they approve it for my final piano recital. Make it or break it time, you know.” She smiled nervously.

How was it she _always_ managed to do this to me?

Gilda could take any situation where I was trying to guide her reaction to me, to keep this contract on _some_ sort of a manageable schedule, and she would cut it and paste it until I couldn’t even recognize it as my own damn handiwork anymore. Each and every time, I had to go back to the drawing board and start over.

At a loss, I said quietly, “They will be amazed by your lovely composition, I am sure.”

She gazed at me, but did not respond.

I nodded, then I got up from her bed. I turned down the covers for her and waited for her to climb into her bed so that I could tuck her in, but she did not budge.

“Mistress?”

“It’s okay. I’ll be all right,” she said quietly.

The door beckoned. Not five minutes ago I was aching for a way out of her bedroom, now I was aching for something else. And before you think I’m referring to _sex_ again, I tell you, I’m not.

“Shall I not tuck you in?”

“Goodnight, Alex,” she said, this time holding the door in her hand, clearly waiting for me to leave.

I don’t know why, and I suspect that I will not be able to stop thinking about it until I do, but my stomach suddenly hurt.

I dropped the comforter and left her room, saying “Goodnight, Mistress. Pleasant dreams,” as I passed her.

Gilda bit her lip and shut the door behind me.

 

+

 

I remained at my desk in my quarters down the hall for the rest of the night. There were piles of paperwork that needed my attention, but I ignored them.

My big plan, falling apart around me like so much burnt confetti. She’d _shut_ her _door_ on me, _again_. All I could do was listen to Gilda as she lay in her bed. I would not abandon her to tears, if it came to that. I told you I didn’t want to break her.

_Oh, gods…_ I _am_ going soft.

I heard her tossing and turning more than usual, but there was no crying. I should have been proud of her, but to be honest with you I wished she _had_ begun to cry – at least that would have been something I could’ve worked with. Not this horrendous apathy, which was confusing to say the least.

Eventually her exhaustion – and no doubt I am partly to blame for it – got the better of her and she drifted off.

I kept turning our conversation over in my head.

_‘It’s okay. I’ll be all right.’_

I had that same feeling in the pit of my stomach, that ache I mentioned; only I finally realized what it was. I remembered when I’d felt it before. It was when I left Ciel in Paris, incorrectly assuming that I should break our contract because of his melancholy. He wound up having to make his way back to London on his own. It was a frightening and difficult journey, fraught with desperation the entire way.

I truly regretted leaving him, and I was grateful when he called me back. Still, I felt that same pain with Gilda that had spurred me on to break with Ciel in Paris. Should I leave _her_ now, as well? Would she call for me, or attempt to muddle through her life alone?

Gilda was falling in love with me, if she wasn’t already. That had been my plan all along, but here it was with a wrench in it right off the bat.

 

+

 

The following morning saw her up before I could enter to wake her. When I knocked on her bedroom door, which was _still_ closed I am sorry to say, she beckoned me in quietly. I found that she had already showered and was back into her pajamas. Her hair dryer was in her hands, and she was preparing to dry her hair. _Alone._

I smiled at her cheerfully, and said, “Good Morning, Miss. I trust you slept well?” She nodded.

Walking over to her vanity, I picked up the chair and placed it next to her. She eyed the chair, then me, and then handed me the appliance as she sat down.

I took the towel from off her shoulders and used it to sap more of the water from her wet hair. Trying to keep things light, I spoke casually.

“Today you have Orchestra, then piano lab from noon until two in the afternoon, then Theory of Composition. In between those last two, however, you’ll need to turn in your final composition to the board, as I am sure you know. For your dinner, I have planned Rack of Lamb with Mint Sauce – _on the side,_ ” I amended quickly, smiling, mindful of her general dislike of sweets, “New Potatoes, and fresh green beans for dinner. Dessert will be at your discretion, as always. I’ve prepared a lunch for you, and it is in the icebox, should you wish to take it. I will be picking your outfit today.”

She nodded again. I didn’t like the way she smelled.

“Are you feeling all right, Mistress?” I asked, finally approaching the way things had been left between us the night before.

“I’m fine, Alex.”

_Ah. Not biting._

“Are you prepared for your Orchestra final? April is just over a month away.”

“Yes. It’s everyone else that needs to worry.”

I loved her confidence, even if she was being cold to me. “What about your composition? Are you satisfied?”

“It’s done. It was done several days ago, actually.”

“Yes, but do you _like_ it?”

She bit the inside of her lip, looking away. “I’m not sure it matters anymore. It just needs to be finished, and as good as I can make it.”

“I see,” I responded, frowning. I watched her face carefully. “How long before the Dean’s board gets back to you with an approval?”

“It’ll be some time.”

“And if they reject it – I seriously doubt they will, but… You’ll have very little time to revise it before the final. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Most things aren’t.”

I gritted my teeth. “I know you were struggling with a title. Since it is finished, what have you decided to call it?”

“That doesn’t matter, either.”

I frowned.

I finished drying her hair for her, applied some dressing, and pulled it back and up per her request. She would have probably put it into a ponytail, but I took the time to style it into a casual French knot, and left a few wavy wisps loose on the sides that framed her face beautifully. She moved the chair back to the vanity and applied her make-up as I arranged her clothing, and I watched, despairingly, as the lipstick blot got crumpled and tossed into the little trash bin.

When she was done, I stood at her bed, holding her socks for the day in my hands. Remaining next to the vanity, she tilted her head at me and spoke.

“I can dress myself, Alex. Why don’t you go make me some oatmeal?”

“Are you sure, Miss? Dressing you is no trouble at all.”

_Dressing you_ , in fact, _is most enjoyable._

“No. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I can finish.”

“Of course, Miss Gilda,” I said. I was barely able to contain the disappointment in my voice.

I left her then, and as I headed down to the kitchen, I heard her close her door. Again.

 

+

 

Before she came down to eat her breakfast, to which I added a rasher of bacon without asking, I peeked in her hideous canvas bag from where it sat on the dining room table. The composition was tucked inside, finished in the formal fashion in a black binder and on the proper paper, and written by hand as per the requirements. I noticed on the cover page that she had gone to pains to control her messy handwriting; it was still distinct, but it was also legible. _Very good, Mistress._ When I turned the cover page to get to the contents, I got an unexpected surprise.

The title of her composition was ‘That Butler: Gilded’.

I was shocked. _That doesn’t matter either_ , she’d said. Before I could even decide how I felt about that, I heard her trotting down the stairs. I put it all back as I had found it with inhuman speed, and poured her a cup of coffee as she entered the dining room. She looked clean, but tired.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the cup from me.

“No need to thank me, Miss. Just doing my job as your butler.”

She didn’t respond, and focused her gaze on the other end of the table as if processing what I’d said.

She ate her breakfast in silence, and she sat in silence all the way to the conservatory. Holding the limo door open for her, I said, “Best of luck with the composition, Mistress,” as politely as I could.

A curt _thanks_ was her only reply as she bound up the conservatory steps and out of my sight.

Yes indeed. This was going foul. I never should have contracted with her. It was time for me to leave.

 

+

 

“Our plans are ruined.”

“Not yet. Be patient. I know what she’ll do when she finds out he’s gone.”

The second one looked towards the first one’s voice, with narrowed, critical eyes.

“You’re very confident in your assumptions. With what, exactly, do you back your theory up?”

The first one knew of the second one’s unreasonably demanding nature when it came to _logic_ and _order_ , so just saying _‘I have a gut feeling’_ wasn’t going to suffice.

“History is on my side.”

 

+

 

I had been in Hell, moping at my neglected desk, for what seemed like over a month when I heard Gilda call for me the second time. There was no way of telling how much time had passed for her – it could have been less, it could have been more. That’s how it ‘works’, if you will.

The mark on my hand was still intact, as was the one on Gilda’s tummy, I had no doubt. But mine, and likely hers as well, was fading, as they had wont to do when a contract was in a slow state of dissolution. After we were in Hell, Ciel once told me that he had panicked when he had woken up in Paris that morning and found me gone. Finding his way to the bath, he had looked in the mirror and saw that the mark in his right eye was suddenly muted, and although he could see perfectly well, he’d felt as though he had been blinded.

I’d hated hearing that from him then, and now I blanched at the thought of Gilda alone in that manor, trying to figure out what she was going to do next. I had no doubt she was forcing herself to not think about _me_ or the details of the contract; given her tenacity she was more than likely just trying to come up with a short-term plan for coping.

When I’d decided to leave her, I simply drove the limo back to the manor, parked it in the garage, and disappeared from your plane of reality. I really wasn’t sure if Gilda would _ever_ call for me or not. Back in London, I was very confident that Ciel eventually would, especially when you consider what a dangerous life the boy had led. But Gilda was not Ciel, and her life was not particularly dangerous. Not anymore, that is; not since her father had lost the ability to hire thugs to kill her.

As I said, this was the second time she’d called. I heard her call once before, in what was a couple weeks ago for me, which I’m guessing had been during the evening on the same day I had left her. I had ignored her. My mark had ached a bit that time, but I could tell it was nothing serious. All I could assume was that she had been despondent, crying perhaps, at my abandoning her, and had simply blurted out her name for me.

This call was different. My contract mark tingled again, but this was a sharp, insistent sensation, almost painful. She was likely in trouble, and I, despite the fact that I was disgusted with myself for doing so, did not hesitate to come to her aid.

I’ll be the laughing stock of Hell should my co-workers ever find out about this.

 

+

 

When I popped back to earth and located Gilda, the site waiting for me was not a good one.

I had no idea how she had gotten home that day, or what had happened to her since, but the little fool had attempted to drive the limo to who knows where in the middle of the night in an ice storm – such a stupid girl, she’d never driven that vehicle, or a car of any sort, not a single _thing_ before in her _life_ – and it had fishtailed off the road. Luckily she’d wound up in the parking lot of a small bait and tackle shop, narrowly missing a large garbage receptacle on the side of the building. I arrived just as she was climbing out of the driver’s seat. She wore a pair of silk pajamas and fluffy slippers, with no coat. While the winter up till then had remained uncharacteristically mild, it was still quite cold, and now it was pelting ice as well. She wiped her face off, and I could see by her skin tone and her red, puffy eyes that she was exhausted and had indeed been crying.

Gilda took a few shaky steps, and I knew she was about to fall down. Suddenly very angry with her for taking such a silly risk, I rushed to her side and grabbed her, clenching her upper arms in my hands before she collapsed. At the sight of me before her, Gilda gasped and said my name again, and the mark burned on my hand just as it had the first time she’d said it, right after our agreement had been made solid.

The ice was still coming down and her silk pajamas were already soaked. I hauled her away from the limo by one arm, stopping when we were under the shop’s awning, and glared at her with my demon eyes.

“Foolish, _reckless_ child! What were you doing? What were you _thinking?”_ I yelled.

Her shock and relief at seeing me again was, as expected, short lived. “I was _trying_ to go back to where we first met! I was _thinking_ I didn’t want you to leave!” she yelled back at me.

I tried to control my temper, but to no avail. Clenching my teeth, I grasped her other arm and pulled her closer to me, shaking her hard. “All you needed to do was to call for me _from_ the _manor!_ When will you ever understand this?”

“Because you wouldn’t have come! _I tried that two hours ago, and you **didn’t** come!”_ she screamed at me, just as angry.

So it was slightly longer than a month for me, but just one evening for her. Never can tell. One would think that such a long absence from her person would have made me less anxious to touch her. One would _think_. All I wanted to do right then, after shaking the hell out of her for another few minutes that is, was to ravage her until we both passed out.

And she was right, of course; I hadn’t come to her aid the first time. And had she not put herself in such danger, I wouldn’t have answered this call either. That only left the question as to why I _did_ respond.

The ice began to let up a tad, and it would likely turn into snow if it continued. I released her arms. Looking down, I closed my eyes. What on earth was I going to do with her?

Suddenly I felt her grab me, hands fisting the front of my black shirt, her cold fingers like steel. _“Don’t you ever leave me again, do you hear?”_ she yelled. Her voice was cracking, and I couldn’t tell if the drops on her face were from the weather or if they were fresh tears.

“Is that an order?” I hissed through my fangs, and she didn’t even flinch. She didn’t answer me, either. “This cannot continue. I will spoil you.”

“You are my _loyal butler_ , for fuck’s sake! You’ve been spoiling me since you contracted with me!”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Then instead of running away, try _explaining yourself.”_

She asked for it.

“Your soul will spoil because you are falling in love with me.”

“And? So I’m falling in love with you, so what?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. _Stupid girl._ “Your heart will get broken.”

“You can’t _know_ that,” she spat. “No one can.”

“You are mistaken. I know because I am a demon, Mistress. I will never fall in love with you. I _cannot_ return those feelings.”

“All right, so you’re incapable of loving me, _fine_.”

“I never said I was incapable of love. I’ve told you that I care about you. But I am a demon, and I do not experience love the way you do. I’m incapable of falling. That is a _human_ emotion.”

She gaped at me. “ _That’s_ what’s had you worried all this time? Are you _kidding_ me?” I didn’t answer, and looked away. “All right,” she started, and her voice was less angry. “So… you _do_ love?”

“I can. Yes… I have.”

She nodded. “But _do_ you?

Well.

_Here we go…_

“Yes, Miss. I love _you_.”

_Ice water_. It was as though my demonic soul had been dunked in ice water.

“Because I’m your precious meal?” She asked, matter-of-fact.

Joy, a life preserver! “ _Exactly_ , Miss. You see–”

“You got any other reasons for loving me?”

_Bitch._

When I didn’t answer her, she barreled on.

“Look, I never expected you to _fall_ , Demon. But this is what I mean. I need for you to answer the question I am actually asking here. I need to know. Can you want me, _like me,_ just a little bit–”

“But I already do, Mistress, and far more than just a little–”

_“Without_ it having to be about making me taste better when you eat me?” she said, smiling and glaring at me at the same time. “To feel that way on your own, just because that black heart of yours led you there… and without me having to order you to do it. Get it?”

“Yes. And I…” I started, cringing. “I already _do_ , Miss.”

Dammit. _Damn._ Hell _. Fuck fuck fuck!_

This little human girl, so _young_. I had over twelve thousand years on her, for pity’s sake. She was so weak, and _fragile…_ and she’d cut right through my carefully constructed curtain of plausible deniability like it was made of wet newsprint. She’d shoved aside my barriers and taken a look for herself, and had finally seen the things I’d been hiding from her all these months…

And she _still_ wanted me.

“Then what is all this crap about?” She asked, flailing her arms about wildly. “Seems to me like we don’t really have any issues here, Alex! _Why_ are you leaving me?”

Exhaling heavily, I became annoyed again and grabbed her upper arm, shaking her. “Think back on the way you have been acting!” Leaning in to her face, I whispered hotly, “You are no good to _me_ with a broken spirit.”

After staring at me for a few seconds, I noticed with chagrin that Gilda was completely unperturbed by my rough handling of her. She smirked unpleasantly, and extracted her arm from my fingers. Rubbing her arm lightly, she said, “No, Alex, _you_ think about who you are talking to here. I spent my entire childhood loving someone who didn’t love me back. I _know_ how to do _that_ , and you care about me a lot more than she ever did.” She tilted her head at me. “Besides… I thought you said I’d taste great just as long as my emotions are intense.”

“That is true, you will.”

“So… what do you care if I taste good because I’m in love with you, or if I’m despairing over you?”

Good Christ, she’d figured it out. I instantly regretted revealing _that_ to her.

“Understand me. It wouldn’t just be a small hurt, my dear. You would not simply ‘despair’. I’d have to _ruin you._ It… It would not be pleasant. For either of us.”

“And you couldn’t have just _told_ me this? You decided to run away instead?”

I paused. “Yes. I felt as though if things continued the way they were going between us, I would be forced into that miserable scenario, and I…”

I hesitated, and she eyed me. “You _what?”_

“I absolutely do not want to do that to you. So I left.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Because I am highly concerned about you. When you cried out for me this time, you were clearly in distress. Surely you must realize that I hold you in great affection, contract or not. As my _meal_ or not.”

“And there you go! _Jesus_ , Alex… I’m not sure what feelings you _think_ you aren’t returning, but you’re fucking returning _something_. It may not be a romantic love, but it’s pretty damn good.”

Damn her astuteness. Damn her for being irresistible. Damn her unique, potent soul. And damn those wet, _translucent_ fucking ivory silk pajamas that _I_ had bought for her as she stood toe-to-toe with me in an ebbing ice storm. Agitated, I tilted my head at her. “Contract aside, I will _never_ be yours. Not like that.”

“ _Dumbass_ , if what you’re feeling is as far as a demon can go with their prey, then you’re _already_ mine.” She laughed at me, the little brat. “God, you are dense.”

I felt my demonic anger welling up, then I shook my head to clear it. “You are passionate, Miss. Your feelings run very deep. I do not believe that what I feel for you will satisfy. It will not be enough.”

Exasperated, Gilda put a chilly hand on my cheek. “As compared to _what?”_ she asked, laughing bitterly. “The crap existence I had before you showed up? Like I said, I know how to deal with people who don’t love me as much as I love them. I’m enjoying how you make me feel. I’m falling. It’s _nice_. Just _let_ me feel it, stupid,” she said, trying not to laugh.

I turned my face away from her. “Do you not think you deserve better?”

“Oh, what is this? Second thoughts? We made a deal, Alex.”

“There is still time to break it.”

“That’d doom me to hell, wouldn’t it?” Gilda grabbed my arm and shook it, pulling me back to face her. “You’d _let_ that happen to me? After what I _went_ through?”

_“No._ I would never. Breaking the contract is different than having it end unsuccessfully. You would still have your life in front of you. Your record would be tarnished, but there would be a good chance that you could work around it. There is a lot of time yet. You are still very young, Mistress. There is so much more you could accomplish–”

“After my final recital, I’ll have gotten pretty much everything I ever wanted.” I frowned at her. “I said, _pretty_ much. What you’ve already done for me goes way past anything I ever expected out of life, Alex. Whether or not you ever start fucking me proper, you’ve touched me more in the last eight months than I’ve ever been touched in my entire life. Holding me, reassuring me… Do you even _know_ how much that has meant?”

“Enough that you should try for more, and not from a demon. What about children? A family?”

“Oh, _please_ , you are so old-fashioned. Be a little more sexist, why don’t you? You’re just asking me that because I’m a _girl._ Just because I have ovaries doesn’t mean I gotta use ‘em. I’d be a shit excuse for a mother and you know it – not just because I had a lousy example, but because I am obsessed with music. Most artists _don’t_ go making babies because of that. Don’t you think I’ve thought this through? I _am_ capable of complicated thinking–”

“All right. Miss. You have made you point.”

“Not yet I haven’t. You listen to me, Demon. You’re not just hungry, you’re starving. I can tell.” How the _hell_ did she figure that one out? “I made a deal with you, and you came through for me like gangbusters. Don’t get cold feet on me now _,_ Alex. Now _now_.”

She bit her lip and looked up at me with earnest eyes. I sighed, frowning sympathetically.

“Look at it this way. This is the last relationship I will have before I die, right? It’s just lucky for me that it’s one hell of a relationship.” She smiled weakly. When I didn’t respond, Gilda laughed and turned away from me, then began walking towards the limo. The wind and the ice had died down, and large, fluffy flakes of snow were falling quietly in their place. Her damp slippers padded through a fresh, thin layer of white snow. “Let’s go home,” she sighed loudly. “You wouldn’t want me to get sick again, right? What a bad butler _you’d_ turn out to be if that happened.”

I called out to her from where I stood, not yet moving.

“You are _ordering_ me to return to service as your butler, yes Miss?”

She opened the limo’s back door, and turned. Taking a few steps back towards me, she stopped, and put a fist on her hip. “Oh, _no_. Uh-uh. Not this time. _You_ left _me,_ remember? And fuck you very much for _that_ , by the way.” She grinned, eyes dancing in the harsh light of a streetlamp. “I’m not gonna make this easy on you.” Gilda chewed at the inside of her lip, then added, “You do what you want. I’ll be in the limo here, waiting for your answer. You know… in the _back._ You remember the _back seat_ , don’t you Alex?”

She gave me a randy smirk. I stood my ground. I would be resolute. She hadn’t ordered me to do anything, had she? I would still leave, break our contract, go hungry… and her soul would have to fend for itself.

I _would._

Then I found myself captivated by the wet silk of her drawstring pants, hips swaying just the right amount as she sauntered back to the limo in her wet slippers. Apparently, entering the vehicle like a lady was still out of the question. She climbed onto the bench seat and crawled her way across it. Her round, ivory-colored backside was very nicely illuminated in the light of the streetlamp, shining through the sunroof of the limo. Her perfect arse was also elevated in a manner that was surely meant to be taken as an advertisement.

Having made it to the far side of the bench seat, Gilda turned and sat up. She crossed her legs and draped an arm across the back, staring at me smugly.

She had deliberately left the back door open, the saucy little bitch. She _knew_ I’d been watching her.

I sighed heavily, suddenly feeling all my long years. I walked back towards the limo with every intention of closing my Mistress’s door for her, getting in the driver’s seat and talking her home. Honestly, I _really_ did. However, by the time I reached the vehicle, there was nothing for it.

After a torturously long pause that consisted of me standing there like an idiot with my fingers perched on the handle of the back door, I finally, _begrudgingly_ , acknowledged my growing erection and got into the back, pulling the door shut behind me.

 

+

 

Just to clarify, I did not ‘penetrate’ her with my human penis, as you are probably thinking. The circumstances were not ideal for a milestone as significant as all that. Gilda’s emotions were still running too high for my liking, and believe it or not I _do_ have some pride left when it comes to such intimate matters with my prey. I’ve no doubt that she and I will cross that bridge some time in the very near future; but when we do, it will be in a situation where she will be at my mercy, and _I_ will control the outcome.

I did, however, perform just about every other sexual act on her that was feasible within the confines of a vehicle’s back seat, and permissible within state law – with the exception of a few that, technically, weren’t – before driving her home.

I suppose it was _all_ dangerous… being that _any_ sexual act in a public place is considered illegal. Damn silly regulation, if you ask me. However, local law enforcement rarely frequents that particular byway, so I was not worried about soiling my Mistress’s reputation. I concentrated on soiling her pinker parts.

What a joy to be told by someone who fully appreciates my efforts to do with her body as I pleased! When it comes to sex, I am nowhere near as disgusting as my co-workers, and certainly not as viciously cruel as some of you humans. Still, I am altogether thorough, and I do have a wicked streak that pops up now and then – I have been accused in the past of being ‘kinky’? I am not exactly sure what that means. But I have learned to be quite creative over the millennia.

On the way home, I’d glanced at her frequently in the rear-view mirror, taking care to watch that she not fall back into a foul mood before we reached the manor. My judicious attentions must have done the trick though, as she remained quiet and smiled back at me with a satisfied expression on her lovely young face, languishing in the warmth of the limo’s heat, which was up full blast. When we pulled into the drive she was already half asleep, and she asked me to carry her up to her bed.

I would’ve preferred to bathe her before putting her back to bed, but she was already so drowsy. I removed her slippers and damp, bloody pajamas, peeling them from her body and kissing every exposed part as I went. I could smell her happiness, but her skin was cold again under my hands and lips, and she was shivering, which bothered me enormously. I started a fire, and wrapped her naked body in a thick blanket. I set her in a chair in front of the hearth while I removed most of the rain from her hair with a towel, and she complied easily. After a few minutes of this, Gilda hummed to herself as she only does when she is at ease with everything around her.

After removing all of my own damp clothing, I carried Gilda to her bed and tucked both of us under the covers, holding her close and keeping her toasty warm. It was the first time since we had gone skinny dipping together that she had ever been in such close contact with all of my bare skin. That had just been for fun. This time it was intimate.

She kissed me and stroked my skin to her heart’s content, claiming I was almost hot to the touch. She told me again, in drowsy, tender words, that I smelled like cedar. I made a note to get her to tell me why Spanish Cedar was so special to her. For the first time in my long history, the _why_ of how I smelled to my prey was not obvious in the least.

I begged her to go to sleep, and she did so quickly and without argument. For the next few hours, I was intoxicated with her happy scent; it was stronger than it had ever been. What an idiot I’d been to think leaving her was the right thing to do. I do not know when she – not just her soul, but _her –_ started meaning so much to me… Sometime before she’d drowned, obviously.

She reminded me of Ciel. Although he and I had been contracted together for far longer when it had actually happened, Ciel had also come to mean more to me than just being my dinner. I sacrificed my dignity and altered the stipulations of our relationship in ways that I never thought I would do for any prey. And now, here I was doing the same thing with Gilda.

It was trouble brewing, and I knew it. A landmine, just _begging_ to be stepped on.

And I no longer cared.

It was now the following morning. I’d allowed myself a little sleep while holding her – I couldn’t help it! We were so very cozy under those downy covers and it felt wonderful. I woke long before she did, but I knew she could use more rest than what she’d already had. Finally I left her there, getting out of her bed to start our day.

Gilda was fortunate not to have any classes that day because she was having trouble walking when she finally dragged herself out of bed.

“Now then, Mistress,” I said cheerfully, gently pulling a soft midnight blue turtleneck over her head and arms. What a good little girl she was being for me, politely standing still in front of the full-length mirror. “You must be very glad right about now that we kept some of the new clothes I bought for you,” I teased. “I know you don’t care for this one, but you cannot deny how efficiently it covers up all the bite marks.”

Oh, _do_ stop gaping. You must have been wondering why her pajamas were bloodied.

Gilda, my darling prey, had simply rewarded me last night with a little snack for coming back to her. And I’m pleased to report that I myself was feeling a bit stronger as well because of it! Of course, I wasn’t feeling as robust as consuming her soul will make me feel. But oh, her blood… especially in that moment, infused with her unwavering affection… It was positively scrumptious.

I smirked at her in the mirror and she blushed prettily, my sweet, shy young Miss. She averted her eyes and smiled while I pulled her long hair out from the back of her shirt and set about to styling it. Fortunately the bites on her neck and body were healing rather quickly. I hadn’t made them overly deep to begin with, and I’d taken the time to lick the puncture wounds impeccably clean before the blood had even begun to coagulate.

There’s no sense doing a thing unless you are going to do it right, I always say!

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

+

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 11**

 

+

 

 

I’d come back to Gilda, renewing our contract and our relationship, at one forty-six a.m. on the second-to-last day in February. She never did tell me how she got home after I abandoned her the day before, but I got the impression that she managed some excuse and asked for a ride home, probably from Fortunado, and then simply ‘dealt’ with my absence as the day went on. She confessed that towards the end of the night she had grown frantic, but still she refused to call anyone for help, except me, of course, and I’d ignored her that time. That’s when the tears began.

Shortly after one a.m. she’d had enough, and attempted to drive the limo to that little outdoor café where I’d approached her for the first time three and a half years ago. She was hoping against all odds that if she cried out for me there, I’d actually show up, and then she could slap me good for scaring her.

Gilda seemed none the worse for wear – well, aside from the bite marks that is. It was a bit unsettling for me, seeing how easily she slipped back into our routine, because I still felt terrible for what I’d done. I _wanted_ her to slap me, so that I could beg her forgiveness, and then she could grant it.

I probably wouldn’t be so confused with this prey if she’d only just cooperate more often and treat me like what I really am – her servant. But, that is simply not her way.

The next day was a Tuesday, and she did not have classes. We were alone together most of the day, as the staff was not expected until later in the afternoon.

After fixing her hair and dressing her in clothing that covered up the bite marks, I went downstairs to clean up the kitchen, while she stayed up to “ _apply some make-up”._ I’d found that a bit odd, considering she wasn’t going out that day, and normally when it was just the two of us she didn’t bother with anything more than skin cream.

In fact, when she finally came down she still didn’t have anything foreign on her face.

After I got her settled in the salon, I went back upstairs to clean her room while she practiced. And there I found it.

A lipstick blot!

Laid out flat on the surface of the vanity, waiting just for me… the first of its kind since last Fall.

_Such love._

The lips were blood red. There were, in fact, _several_ perfectly symmetrical impressions on this tissue; Gilda had to have re-applied the lip covering over and over, blotting each time. I had a burning desire to celebrate another victory by ejaculating all over it – my fluid on her lips, _ah_ , symbolic though it was, just the _thought_ of it _–_ but I refused to soil my little treasure! So I simply wrote the date on it instead.

I memorized the pattern, then folded it carefully and placed it in my shirt pocket so that I could put it in my faux scrapbook. I was on my way to the library to put it away when I saw Gilda practicing at her piano. Not being able to stop myself, I veered from my path, walking up to her slowly until she saw me. When she stopped playing and turned to face me, I took her face in my hands without asking. I kissed her eyes, her cheeks, forehead, nose, chin – mimicking the pattern of blots she had left for me.

Ghosting my mouth over to her ear, I whispered, “Thank you, Miss.”

_Do you forgive me?_

I pulled back to look at her face, still captured in my hands, and she smiled.

“You’re welcome, Alex.”

_You’re forgiven._

It was the first, last and only time either one of us ever acknowledged the lipstick blots as Mistress and Butler, and it was vague enough not to count as an admission. There was no mistaking, however, what that moment of affection had been about.

 

+

 

It was as though we had started over.

To be perfectly honest, I have yet to figure out what the definition of ‘our relationship’ is, but Gilda is quite happy with me, and I am happy with that, so defining what we are to each other is perhaps unnecessary – at least at this point.

Gilda is, simply, inexperienced. Not when it came – pardon the pun – to having had bed sex, because she excelled at that, thanks to her unskilled, selfish partners. And any noteworthy orgasms she had before _I_ came along were ones that she’d accomplished on her own.

_Good_ sex is where she is quite inexperienced. Or rather, _was_. Or at the very least, will be. Yes, that’s a more apt description–

Sorry! Getting ahead of myself. I have glee again, you see! I’m beginning to think that I have an addiction to that particular emotion.

As to my ‘coming along’, that was _not_ a pun. I haven’t yet allowed myself to go so far as to experience the full pleasure of sex with her. I’ve had some lovely orgasms _because_ of her, yes, but not with her.

Now, you probably have some questions at this point. Let me expound on a few matters:

I am certainly not holding out on her because of physical consequences. I cannot get Gilda, or any other female, or Grell Sutcliff for that matter, with child. Sorry to disappoint.

I am sterile. Probably the most sterile being you would ever encounter. No, I do not mean that I burst forth with defective semen as it were; I mean literally, that as a demon, I am _sterile_. Demons are not ‘born’ of sexual reproduction between demons; therefore we are incapable of reproducing.

Actually, we are born… Oh, dear. I’m getting a wee bit ahead of myself! Apologies if you were holding your breath for more information; there is no need to reveal to you how my kind come into existence.

When I care to ejaculate, it is simply a fluid that is free of genetic material. It is completely harmless. In fact, I’ve been told by humans that it tastes quite delicious. As I do not eat human food, I wouldn’t know the difference. The last time I tasted my own fluid, it had no flavor. And yes, I can bend that far. Heh.

Before you let your imagination run any further, when I referred to myself as ‘sterile’, I also meant that I am superfluously clean. When my body becomes soiled with earthly dirt and grime, naturally I will wash it to rid myself of the foreign matter. But here, I am speaking to the microcosmic. I cannot impart diseases, germs, bacteria or viruses on to humans because they simply are not there in the first place. I am a _demon;_ no such organism can flourish upon or within my person.

I am a demon so you expect me to be riddled with pestilence? _Shame on you._ It is that exact brand of haughty ignorance and obtuse assumption that has defined the human race.              

Just to be very clear: the reason I am not giving into that particular desire is because I still want to maintain some measure of control over our relationship. The success of the contract requires it. The _demon_ in me demands it.

All right, it’s my goddamn _pride._ I will decide when and where it is going to happen. I _refuse_ to rush into any new sexual territory with her. I will go about this properly, to maximize her enjoyment of it, despite how little time we have left together.

Her first final, for orchestra, was scheduled for next week on April fourth. We had exactly seventy-nine days left as Mistress and Butler until her piano recital on June fifteenth. I spent the first twenty-nine days of March doing four things with my Mistress:

One; driving Gilda to school, watching over her while she attends classes, and then taking her home.

Two; performing my regular buttling duties with her, waking, feeding, bathing, dressing, feeding, bathing, tucking in.

Three; conferring with the staff on Tuesdays regarding the maintenance of her finances.

Four; spending nearly every other free moment that we have been alone together _getting her off._

I know, I the used the vernacular. Gilda has been ‘on my case’ to ‘loosen up’. She wants me to occasionally try speaking as though I was born sometime after nineteen fifty-five. It is quite difficult, to say the least.

In any case, I stimulate her on a regular basis. I use my hands and fingers, or I do so orally, sometimes both. Once, when we were feeling adventurous, I used a ‘sex toy’. The look of surprise on her face when she discovered that I took it upon myself to replace the one I threw away last Fall was priceless.

“Holy crap!” she cried, looking at the strange purple thing through the cellophane package and reading the description. “This one’s a ‘G-spot locator with a curved jelly tip’ and it has ‘multiple vibrating patterns’. Wow,” she said, blushing and looking up at me. _“You_ picked this out, Alex?”

“This pleases you, Miss?”

“What, you or the toy?” She laughed. I smirked, looking in her eyes. “Yes, you please me very much. As far as _this_ goes,” she said, tapping on the package front, “I have no idea. I’ve never looked for a G-spot before.”

“Shall we give it a go, then?”

It was a bit of fun, but we only used it once. In the end, she didn’t like the mechanical vibrations, citing that it felt ‘artificial’ and the orgasm was all too sudden.

“It was kind of confusing, actually. I wasn’t able to think about you, and that made it weird.”

Ah, my Young Miss.

I felt like writing the manufacturer with a complaint of false advertising. We never did find her ‘G-spot’ using the contraption. When we were determined to find it a few nights later, _sans devices_ , I eventually brushed against it with the pad of my index finger, thank you very much, and I’ve been exploiting it shamelessly ever since.

We have played together like this in her bed, in the salon, in the bathtub, on the stairs, in front of a quiet fire or a noisy television, on a pile of books in the library (that was great fun; I read her poetry while pressing slow little circles on her mound). Just about the only place I’ve refused her was on the dinner table, because that’s just disgusting. And oddly enough, she has yet to approach me in my private room.

Gilda will narrow her eyes at a stray black cat in between classes at the conservatory, then casually mention to Fortunado Fernandez that she will not be joining him for lunch that day. The next thing we know, I’m meeting her at the bottom of the stairs with the limo. I break the speed limit driving to a nearby convenience store, pull into the far end of the parking lot, and join her for ‘lunch’ in the back seat. Although, the only one who actually gets to eat during such luncheons is _me._

I love to take my time with her, but occasionally aggression has been more appropriate. We do this spontaneously as the mood strikes, or after planning it, or because we flirt and dance around our desire for each other for hours, until it can no longer be denied, and there we are again, reaching for each other.

Of course, while an orgasm is the final result, the real goal is always her pleasure, so I am never so crass as to simplify it. There is plenty of interaction, and while it is difficult, I hold back with my own desires. Gilda clings to me as I whisper in her ear, touch her, kiss her… smell her soul rising up to greet me every time… I stroke her back indulgently when it arches, and I know she is close…

_Oh…_

However, there is still the issue of my own release, and Gilda is a very determined young lady; one that is never content to rest on laurels – hers or mine. Each time I please her, she grows more curious as to why our intimacy never involves my cock.

And this is my fault. I have wasted our precious time together. If I hadn’t been so damned intent on regulating her, or so worried about her falling in love, I would have a lot more than three and a half months to nurture this rather rewarding relationship. But… well, there it is. Now that we’ve been at this for a bit, I finally understand just how much she enjoys the attention. And if her soul is brighter and clearer because of it, that only makes my prize more valuable than she already is.

You may feel I should be held accountable for teaching my Young Miss such a decadent version of carnal knowledge? I beg to differ. The young lady had it in her before we even met – and, _no_ , I was not referring to her premature introduction to the male body at the tender age of twelve.

Honestly, don’t be so squalid.

I am talking about her _appetite_ , which just happens to be adventurous and healthy, and perfectly normal for a human being. What sort of a butler would I be were I to deny my Mistress the courtesy of a simple little thing like magnificent sex?

Not to worry. Come Hell or high-water – preferably _not_ the first – I will get us there.

 

+

 

On Wednesday, April fifth, Gilda’s Orchestra final came and went, with her passing it as easily as she had predicted. She and some of the other students decided to go out to eat together afterwards, to celebrate either their high marks, or simply because it was over. I bided my time, listening to the other student’s chauffeurs complain about their charges as I waited patiently in the parking lot until the festivities ended.

When I finally got her home and all ready for bed, I assumed, incorrectly, that after such a long day she would be too tired to have any fun with me.

Sitting on the edge of her bed in rose-colored pajamas, Gilda looked up at me and licked her dry lips.

“One down, two to go,” she sighed.

“Indeed. Have you been drinking tonight, Miss?”

“Not a drop.”

“Are you hungry?”

She smirked. I smirked in return.

“Famished.”

“I see. Shall we celebrate the success of your first final then?”

She tilted her head, and beamed up at me. “I think we should. It was just as much your success as it was mine.”

“Not at all.”

I stood before her and rolled my sleeves back up to my elbows. I slipped off my shoes and pushed against them roughly with one foot, hearing them slide nosily far across the floor behind me with satisfaction in my heart.

I’d polished all the hardwood floors, Walnut if you please, only just yesterday, and they had shined so bright!

I looked down at Gilda with the barest hint of a threat on my face, because I still enjoyed intimidating her now and then. And intimidating her before touching her intimately was especially nice, because it got her sopping wet.

I unbuttoned the silk pajama top. “Weren’t we just here?” she asked, voice slightly nervous.

“Yes. I thought you’d want to go right to sleep tonight,” I replied, leaning in close to her as I pulled the sleeves down her arms, and slid the garment from her body deliciously slow. “My mistake,” I whispered against her ear. Then I kissed her earlobe, and felt her shiver under my lips as I trailed more kisses down her neck.

I still make her nervous. She shivers with the slightest persuasion on my part even after all this time. If _this_ is what it is like having a human fall in love with you, then on with the show, if you please.

Throwing her top to the floor with my shoes, I kept my eyes on hers as I leaned forward and pulled at the drawstring of her pants. She obliged me by elevating her hips so that I could slide the garment from her waist and bottom. Squatting down to remove the silk pants from her ankles, I tossed them aside with a smirk, then I stood up straight.

“Demonic tongue, or human?” I quipped.

She smiled up at me sympathetically. “Human. I know that bothers you.”

“What is it you think bothers me, Miss?”

“Well… every time you let a bit of the demon out, you get upset that I saw it. So, don’t.”

“If Miss desires it, I will persevere. I exist only to please _you_.”

“And it pleases me that you don’t get bothered. So stop talking about this before I get mad and then you get upset and we–“ here she wiggled her fingers in that annoying quotation mark gesture, and imitated my accent, “–‘ _get in a **row** ’_, and then neither one of us goes to bed happy. Not that _you_ ever go to bed. Or get off.”

I smirked at her rare authoritative behavior. And what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, correct?

“Speaking of which, don’t demons have orgasms?”

_Dammit!_

“I can see you getting an erection when we play around, you know. But now that I think about it you don’t _always_ get hard, I mean you aren’t right _now_ , and-”

“Can we possibly put this discussion off for another time?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling up at me and shrugging.

“There’s my sweet Miss,” I said, caressing her cheek with the back of my knuckles. I got on the bed, sitting behind her on my knees. Running my fingertips up and down her arms, I gazed down at her body over her shoulder and watched with satisfaction as her nipples hardened. She leaned back and smiled up at me. I kissed her softly, then whispered, “Will you lay down for me?”

“If you take off your shirt and t-shirt, I will.”

“Miss?”

“Please, Alex?”

I sighed. “Will we forever be making deals?”

“Probably,” she said, giggling.

“All right… I will agree to my upper body being nude if you will remove the clothing yourself.”

She hesitated, but turned. Gilda was already pink in the face, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling as she began unbuttoning my shirt. It was strange how she was growing steadily bolder with her inquiries about my genitals – but never in a crude way, not like before – yet simple little things like taking off my clothes flummoxed her.

“Mistress, you are completely unabashed about your own nakedness, yet you get flustered when it comes to undressing _me_. I do not understand this.”

She shrugged, pulling off the shirt and adding it to the pile on the floor. “You know how I feel, Alex.”

I shook my head, smiling. “You really are a shy little thing sometimes.” It’d sounded like teasing, but I had not meant it that way.

“Don’t make fun,” she said quietly, gripping the hem of my black t-shirt and pulling it over my head.

As soon as my head and arms were free, I took her face in my hands and kissed her.

“I am not making fun,” I said against her lips, then kissed her again. “I happen to appreciate that you are slightly timid regarding our intimacy. It seems I am the only one who can provoke such reticence in you. It’s lovely.”

“Well… You’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with.”

I caressed her cheek, smiling down at her.

“Lay down, please. On your side, facing away from me.”

She lay down then, as requested, and I put a pillow under her head. Her back was to me, and I could see that she still smiled, but she looked confused as well.

This was probably due to the new position. _I will have to surprise her like this more often._ I enjoy variety, you see.

I took a second pillow and put it behind her thighs. Laying down behind her, on my side as well, I rested my head on the other pillow. Stroking her thigh, I was just about to lift her leg up over my shoulder so that I could begin cunnilingus, when she spoke up.

“Um… Alex? What are you doing? I thought you were setting us up for sixty-nine.”

“Oh… I don’t…”

More vernacular. _Faugh!_

“What is ’ _Sixty-nine’_ , Miss?”

She laughed quietly. “If we had a copy of the Kama Sutra, you’d probably be able to tell me what page it’s on. You know, two people, in our case a guy and a girl, licking and sucking, both at the same time? I can’t get at your zipper from here.” She made, I am sure inadvertently, a crude yin-yang symbol with her hands. “Sixty-nine?”

_Ah._

Good Lord, you use _numerical numbers_ to describe such a blissful act? How utterly loathsome.

And here she was again with the desire for a mutual climax! She wasn’t getting anywhere near my zipper. Not just yet.

“No. I was not planning to do _that_. I was simply choosing a more comfortable position on the assumption that you did not want me to rush through your oral stimulation. I have noticed, Mistress, that the slower I take it, the stronger you come for me.”

I did not simply say ‘you come’; I said ‘you come _for me’_ , and I meant every word of that. I will claim that victory as is my right.

“Oh,” she said softly. I witnessed as _magenta_ decorated her, _everywhere,_ and I loved the way her blush had brought more heat to her skin. I kissed the backs of her thighs, pausing longer at each junction where they met her bottom, beckoning her soul to rise up and play with me for a bit. “Alex,” she said, laughing softly, “that tickles.”

“Apologies, Miss. There are some things I cannot resist.”

She cleared her throat delicately. “So you want this leg over you? Like this?” Lifting her leg, she draped it over my shoulder and rested it behind my head on the fitted sheet.

_Ah… so flexible!_ I suppressed a shiver.

“Yes, just like that, Miss.” I tilted my head up. _Still not close enough._ I put a hand on the thigh on my shoulder and pat it gently.“Now, if you wouldn’t mind Miss Gilda, please tilt this hip back a bit, towards me.” She did so. “Yes, that’s very good.” I scooted forward until _all_ of her sensitive bits – cleft, perineum _and_ anus – were well within reach of my mouth.

Obviously, I would spare no expense tonight. She would be clean as a whistle!

A thought occurred to me at the last second. Sitting up slightly, I removed my tie. Grabbing her hands, I pulled both of them behind her back, and tied her wrists together.

“Kinky,” Gilda blurted, laughing.

“Find that funny, do you? All right then.”

I slipped one foot through the loop of her arms, and secured her back against my legs with her bound hands behind my knee, causing her to squeak.

“Still amusing?” I asked, inflecting _Disappointed Professor_ into my voice.

“Yeah… _Yes_ ,” she said. She was still laughing, but there was some nervousness in her voice now, as well.

“Then let’s see if I can make you laugh even louder.”

I took my time, using only my human tongue as promised, lapping her slowly from top to bottom and back again… dipping in, twirling, tasting, wriggling, hands caressing her belly and rubbing her mound, all the things I had learned about her thus far… until her body began to tremble and I licked faster, burying my face in her folds once again, relishing the heat and all that wet, drowning in the bright flavor that is _Gilda._

When she came, her back arched and she cried out. She squeezed my knee tightly against her spine with her bound hands, and she clenched the bottom sheet in her toes behind my head. My cock, which had behaved itself thus far, began to thicken with blood while I watched her passionate reaction.

After her orgasm subsided, I got my head out from between her thighs and untied her wrists. She sighed happily as she slackened all over and her upper body fell forward onto her bed.

“If that’s how you celebrate when I pass a test, Demon, I wonder what you’d do to me if I failed?” Her tired voice was muffled where her face was mashed into her pillow.

I chuckled. Getting to my knees, I reversed my position. “I advise you not to try and find out,” I said, whispering in her ear, making her giggle again.

Laying down behind her, I lifted Gilda’s torso to move the arm that was trapped beneath her side in front of her. “You are so sweet,” she murmured, “you think of everything.”

I smirked triumphantly, and pulled her body close against mine.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Usually after pleasuring Gilda, I retired to my room to do paperwork or read, or resumed my chores if necessary. I hadn’t stayed with her, holding her while she slept, since the night of my return. It felt so long ago, now.

“If that is your wish, yes.”

She hummed her agreement. Laying against me like that, she could feel my ebbing erection. “Alex… you’re hard,” she managed around a yawn. “Please… just let me…”

Reaching back, Gilda began to slip a hand between us. She was quite tired, but perfectly willing to help me out, the little darling. Still, I stopped her and placed her hand back on her tummy, holding it firmly there with my own.

“It will pass,” I whispered, kissing the skin behind her ear. “Go to sleep, my dear.”

 

+

 

“He’s quite creative, isn’t he?”

The second one curled his lip. “The poor, _stupid_ girl is in love with him. He doesn’t _have_ to be creative.”

“I know… but still, he keeps her guessing. Rather nice of him, don’t you think?” the first one asked rhetorically, sniffing the air haughtily.

“He has to go pretty far out of his way to please her.”

“No he doesn’t. She’s the type that would be thrilled if he gave her a balloon for no reason.”

“I was talking about _sex._ She’s rather… _insatiable_ in that sense.” A faint smacking sound was heard as thin lips were licked. It did not escape the notice of the first one. “In any case, why should he _bother?_ What’s the point?”

“In the first place, he enjoys his job. Second, he likes being close to his prey, and by ‘close’, I mean affectionate. He likes being close to _her,_ and very much. Incidentally, Gilda Franks is far from stupid.”

“She’s just a silly human being.”

“So were you, once. As was I.”

“And we were both worthless wretches, just as she is, save that my soul was above average and yours was exceptional. Her soul is quite exceptional as well, and it is her only valuable trait.”

_“She_ is a decent person. And she’s awfully good with that piano,” the first one said, sounding a bit annoyed at having to point out the obvious.

“What does that matter? It won’t change the course of human history.”

The first one sighed. “You are a passionless, cold thing, you know that? You have _no_ heart.”

“And you did? You’re a bit of a sap now, but as I recall you were fairly heartless in your time.” The second one raised his eyebrows, looking more conceited than ever, if possible. “In any case, I don’t see the need for a heart. And I don’t see the reward in pleasing _that girl_ as much as he does.”

“Well, if she’s a challenge, that makes it all the more interesting for him. As I told you, he’s patient. The longer it takes to get the reaction he wants, the more accomplished he feels. Besides which, _look_ at what they are doing, will you?”

Thin lips curled again. “Yes, yes, she’s fallen asleep and he’s still holding onto her – what do they call that? _Spooning?”_

The first one was unable to suppress a quiet, uncharacteristic giggle. “You look like you’ve swallowed vinegar!”

“Never mind what I look like. What of–” long, elegant fingers waggled over some words – _“them?”_

The first one sighed, because the second one could be such a prat about certain things.

“Look. I died rather young, and I freely admit to having been a vindictive brat. My only personal experience with sex was rape… but I have been around long enough to recognize peaceful, satisfied lovers when I see them.”

“ _Peaceful._ Hmph.” The second one sneered.

“Oh? And when was the last time _you_ made anyone feel like that? Or felt that way in kind?”

“ _That_ is none of your business.” Glancing towards the first one’s voice, the second one closed the rather heavy book they had been reading with a sharp _snap_ , and moved to put it back on a shelf.

“Hey – you left the damn bookmark in it. Be careful.”

The second one tried not to look chagrined and removed the tacky pink bookmark – idly wondering why something so powerful would be _pink_ ; it simply made no sense – and put the book away. Embarrassed at being caught in what could have been a very dreadful mistake, the second one changed the subject quickly.

“I admit she’s talented. Are you having second thoughts, then?”

The first one sighed, sounding quite tired.

“No. It’s still the most we can hope for, all around. You can count on me.”

 

+

 

Her Orchestra final heralded yet another schedule change, and one that I was excited about!

The day after, she took a written test in her Theory course, and that was it for her actually attending classes _at_ the conservatory. She was expected to prepare for her last two finals on her own.

This meant, of course, more time at home.

With me.

_Alone._

Such bliss… it gave me shivers just imagining all the new the _things_ we could try together!

Gilda, along with every other senior attending the conservatory, received the specifics for their final in conducting that last day of class as well. Gilda was not thrilled with her assigned music, but as she was not majoring in conducting, she was not terribly bothered about it either. Her performance for conducting did not count towards her certificate as much as her piano recital did.

Fortunado Fernandez, however, had been very concerned. This final would influence his ability to get an apprenticeship with a major orchestra, so the piece selected was everything.

_“Goody_ … I get to flail my arms around like a monkey since I don’t know what I am doing.”

“Then just flail your arms around like an monkey,” Fortune said, laughing. “I mean, it’s _In the Hall of the Mountain King!_ Just _go_ with it, Gillie.”

She winced. “Are you upset with what they gave you?”

The boy frowned, considering her words. “No… not really. I don’t really like that piece personally. But conducting _is_ my declared major. That they gave me something so hard kind of says good things, right? Because if they had given me something easy…”

“Ah… You mean like In the Hall of the Mountain King?” Gilda asked him with a cheeky, flirty tone.

He smirked at her. “Hey, that may be an obvious piece, and it’s been over-used for all sorts of silly crap… But you’re going to have to do a _bit_ more than just flail around, little girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I get to be all dramatic and imposing. God, Forch, how do you take it? All those people are looking at you, then you turn and face the orchestra, and then all _those_ people are looking at you! Yuck!”

He shrugged. “I suppose I’ve always seen orchestral performance as a big puzzle, and _I_ get to move the pieces. It intrigues me.”

I had been arranging their coffee, tea and goodies in the salon while listening to their conversation. Handing Fortunado a cup of tea, I decided to join the conversation.

“If I may ask, Mr. Fernandez, what piece did they assign you?”

“They gave me part of the Rite of Spring – do you know that one, Alex?”

“Intimately,” I said, having been present at the actual première in nineteen hundred and thirteen, about six months after I ate Louis DeBrena’s soul. Stravinsky’s introduction of this famous ballet to the public was not as nearly as riotous as the current account claims. It was far worse. To this day, it remains one of the highlights of my long life when masquerading as a human.

“Which part, specifically, did you get?”

“Well, they only require a short demonstration of our skills, so I got The Ritual of Abduction in the first part.” He winced.

“Oh, dear. You are correct, that will not be easy.”

“Alex, he’s nervous enough.”

“Yes, I can see that. But you are also quite talented, Mr. Fernandez.” I handed Gilda her coffee, and set the tray of goodies on the table in front of the couch they were sitting on, positioning the savory ones in front of Gilda, and the sweet, by Fortunado. “With some practice, I am sure you will be marvelous.”

“Yeah, but… we have no way to practice except in front of a mirror. They want this raw, the bastards,” Gilda groused.

“Hm… They have given you the layout of the orchestra?”

“Yes. We all got it,” Fortune said.

“May I see this?”

He handed me his copy, and I looked it over briefly before saying, “Leave it to me.”

As I left them in the salon and headed for the basement stairs, I heard Fortunado say to my Mistress, “What’s he gonna do?” and she responded with, “I dunno, but it’s sure to be good.”

Within an hour, I requested they both accompany me to the basement, where I had transformed the dance floor into a fake symphony orchestra based on the layout the students had been given, using everything from furniture to clothes on hangers to appliances. Their assigned music was cued up into the bar’s ‘CD’ player, and they were off.

Their first final was done, and all their structured classes were over. They had a month to go before they would conduct in front of an actual orchestra. I was ordered to leave the dance floor as is, with Fortune dropping by to use it. Not only was he able to hone his own performance, but he gave Gilda a few tips so that she was not simply ‘flailing around like a monkey’.

Over the next weeks, more of Gilda’s friends in their senior year came over and used the set-up I created as well. She and I had to curtail a few of our spontaneous encounters, but Gilda, sacrificial soul that she truly is, allowed this. In the end she was happy to have helped them, so I was all right with the interruptions. I was shocked at how much pressure these children were under. Some of them were so grateful they cried.

After one long afternoon of Gilda and Fortune practicing, they decided to splash around in the pool for a few hours before he headed home. I encouraged this; if the nerves she had for this final were any indication, it was evident to me that Gilda was going to go overboard practicing for her piano recital.

I acted as lifeguard as they splashed about, then joined them in the pool with a stopwatch as they raced doing laps. I didn’t actually need the timepiece, but I pretended to for the boy’s sake. That escalated to me attempting to teach Fortunado how to jack-knife off the diving board, while Gilda sat in a lawn chair and watched us, worn-out and giggling.

There was some hands-on during his lesson. His skin is almost as nice to touch as Gilda’s.

Later, when it was time for him to go home, I could tell she wanted me to leave them alone, so I nodded to her politely as she took the jacket I offered her and I shut the door behind them. They leaned against his car, having a friendly chat.

“Man, that was fun. We really need to take more breaks like that. Next time it’s video games at Uncle Rafe’s all right?”

“It’s a date!”

“Alex was great in there. He really knows a lot about everything, doesn’t he?”

“You got a crush on him, don’t you Forch?”

The boy smiled, blushed, and looked down. “Damn. Am I that transparent?”

“Don’t worry, I doubt he noticed,” she lied smoothly, saving the boy’s pride.

“Christ, Gillie, he is completely _hot.”_

She shook her head, smiling down at the ground. “I know.”

“How do you take it, being around him all day?”

“I guess… I just try to think of him as my butler, and leave it at that,” she said, lying even more. “Even though he has beautiful eyes and really nice shoulders.” Back to the truth. Gilda was staring at the window I was standing at, and I saw her swallow hard. She knew I was there.

“Well, however you deal with his hotness, you depend on him like you should, and he’s been good for you. All this,” the boy gestured at the house, “It’s all been good for you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it worked out well.”

“You’ve even got better at the piano, when I thought you couldn’t.”

“Always room for improvement, right?”

“Seriously, Gills, listen to me…” He turned to face her, and took one of her hands. “Someday, when you’re famous, and I’m probably the alternate conductor of a semi-decent symphony–”

“Oh! Semi-decent, my ass. You’ll get Budapest or San Francisco at the very _least._ Maybe even Cleveland, and you’ll be the lead within five years.”

He took her other hand and rubbed them between his, fending off the cold. “Well… Budapest, maybe, but Cleveland? That’s aiming pretty high.”

“Not too high for you. You’ve improved tons, just practicing here, I’ve seen it. And that’s saying something, considering how hard the piece they gave you is.”

“Ugh. One minute and twenty seconds of sheer _Hell.”_

I winced, but Gilda took it all in stride.

“Trust me,” she said sarcastically, “two minutes is more than enough.”

“Huh?”

“…Nothing. It’s… just a final, Fortune. This isn’t even close to Hell.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyways, my old pal Gilda Franks, the virtuoso who has a recording deal and sets her price? Well, _she’s_ going to have a concert somewhere huge, and she’ll invite _me_ and _my_ orchestra to come play with her.”

Gilda looked at her friend. Her expression was filled with many fleeting emotions, including a tiny bit of regret. There was a pit in my stomach.

“You’re gonna be amazing, Gillie,” he whispered, caressing her cheek. “When we get out there… you know, when we’re professionals? You’re going to blow everyone away.”

My Miss looked long at him, and frowned, trying not to cry.

“Hey, what? What is this? What did I say? Oh, Gillie, c’mere.”

Fortunado Fernandez took my Mistress into his arms and held her tight. I saw her resisting his embrace at first, her body language stiff and defensive. However, I had a feeling the boy was used to this reaction from her, as he patiently waited for her to relax, and she finally leaned into him.

“That’s better, stupid. I’m right here.”

She smiled, and I was _instantaneously_ _jealous_.

“Where? Where shall we do that, Fortune? Tell me. Give me the whole picture.” Her voice was watery with emotion, but remarkably, she was not crying.

“Carnegie Hall, of course. And we’ll do Mozart. Oh! And Liszt!”

Gilda poked him in the ribs, and he yelped.

“Franzie? You’d do that to me? Gah, _horrible!”_

“But you _love_ Liszt!”

“I love _listening_ to him, yeah. He’s a pain in the ass to play.”

“You get off on it, and you know it.”

They giggled together, sounding like one unit. Some time passed, him just holding her and her allowing it, before he finally spoke again.

“Look, whatever happens… wherever we end up, just know that I love you, Gillie. I never would have made it without you.”

“I love you too, Fortune. You’re my family.”

“And Uncle Rafe?”

“Uncle Rafe, too. Of course, silly.”

“And Alex,” the boy said, and my ears perked up. “Alex is family, too.”

Gilda paused, and a smile crept over her face very slowly.

“And Alex.”

 

+

 

“Were you listening?” she asked me, quietly and with no venom.

“I was.”

From where I stood at the foot of the stairs, I watched patiently as she started to remove her jacket. I came to her instantly. Removing her jacket for her, I hung it back up in the closet and she turned to face me.

“You’ll lock up? I can’t figure out that… _stuff,”_ she said, waving a hand at the monitors, alarm panel and various door locks.

Oh, I still turned it on. I also changed the password twice a day and _never_ counted on it as working properly. Never again.

“Leave it to me, Miss,” I said, setting the lot.

She smiled at me. We stood and faced each other in the dim light of the foyer. The house was quiet and we spoke in hushed tones.

“I hope I haven’t offended? That I was eavesdropping?”

“No.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t mind you listening. Thanks for letting me be alone with him for a few minutes.”

“Not at all, Miss. The boy is very important to you. He said some nice things.”

She looked down, frowning slightly. “He did. Some _very_ nice things.”

I hid the turmoil that was brewing inside me. I stepped forward and put a finger under her chin, gently lifting her face, making her eyes meet mine. I asked the question that was buzzing, _screaming_ at me, in my head.

“Has Miss changed her mind? About the contract?”

Gilda bit her lip, drawing her eyebrows together.

“I won’t deny that I’ve thought about it. I’m going to miss out on a lot of things.”

I felt my insides drop all the way to the Eastern hemisphere. And yet, her continuing on… becoming more than she already is… that idea excited me as well.

If only I wasn’t so goddamn _hungry_.

“But… none of this would have happened for me if you hadn’t come along. I would have died in that alley. I wouldn’t have had the chance to finish school, and I wouldn’t have…”

She stopped, looking down again.

“Wouldn’t have what, Mistress? Please tell me.” I took her face in both of my hands then.

“Nothing. It’s not important right now. A deal is a deal, Alex. So, no, I don’t want to break the contract.”

“I’m… I’m not sure…”

Gilda’s eyes got wide, and she pushed my hands away from her face, forcing herself into my arms and hugging me tight around the waist.

“You are _not_ allowed to leave me again. _Ever._ That is an order. Do I make myself clear?”

I finally put my arms around her as well, and sighed.

“I am not going anywhere, Miss. I will be with you until the very end.”

“Promise?”

“Of course, Miss. I promise.”

We stayed like that for a bit, just holding each other, then she yawned, and I picked her up in my arms and carried her up to her bedroom. After all the practicing and swimming, Gilda was very tired, so this time I just dressed her and tucked her in. As I sat next to her on the bed, Cat and one of her kittens came in and joined us. She climbed into on my lap, getting a thorough stroking.

Gilda pet the kitten as it fell asleep, purring away on her tummy. It was one of the male bluish kittens. He had taken a fancy to sleeping on Gilda’s bed recently, and she had named him _Ink_.

We chatted quietly for a bit before falling silent.

“Do you swing both ways, Alex?” she finally asked, breaking the quiet.

“Pardon…?”

“Dear god, you really don’t know that one? Bisexual?”

“Ah. I see. Well… yes, I suppose I am.”

“So… the stuff you do with me, you’ve done with your other contracts, and some of them were men?”

“Yes. I’ve gone much further than we have, with both women and men.” She nodded. “Does this offend you, Miss Gilda?”

“Um… let’s see. Are you asking if I’m offended because there have been other humans besides me that you have been intimate with? Or that there were men among them?” She smirked, continuing, “Or… that you haven’t gone _that far_ with me as of yet?”

“All that, I suppose.”

“None of that, I suppose…” she said quietly, and I smiled at her vague answer. “But Fortune likes you,” she said. Gilda grinned, looking away.

“I know. I can smell it.”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“I have no intentions of even touching him. Not–”

“I’m just saying, I won’t mind. But don’t hurt him.”

“Miss would be jealous. And I would be upset with myself for causing that.”

“I can’t do anything to change your preferences, Alex.”

“Allow me to clarify. He is a very attractive young man. Just as you are a very attractive young woman. And my _preference_ is to simply be attracted.”

She nodded again, but did not respond.

“But none of that matters in light of your fierce little soul. Fortune is a decent fellow, but he cannot compare. At present, Miss, my only attraction is you _._ I am too enthralled with both your soul _and_ figuring out your intricate puzzles, so there will be no others. Not until our contract is completed.”

Gilda seemed to be happy with that answer.

“You know, even soaking wet in the pool you still smell like cedar to me.”

I didn’t want to push her. I didn’t want to have to ask… But, _oh_ , I wanted to know.

“Cedar? You really like that smell, don’t you?”

Gilda eyed me. “You want to know why, don’t you?”

I smiled, reaching out to tuck some hair behind her ear. “If Miss is willing to tell me, I will give her my undivided attention.”

She smiled. “Okay. But it’s not all that glamorous a story,” she winced. “To be honest, it’s not even a happy one.”

I stayed silent, giving her the time she needed.

“When I was little… and Veronica and I lived in that shitty tenement-style apartment that I’ve told you about? That was where I learned to dislike insects.”

Cat had fallen asleep on my lap, and I leaned forward slightly, being careful not to disturb my precious baby, so that I could take one of Gilda’s hands in my own. She smiled up at me, and continued.

“It was... what’s the word. Infested? Cockroaches, spiders. We were lucky there weren’t any pets allowed in the building, or there’d have been fleas, too. But the bed bugs. They were the worst. I kept them very healthy. And you know how sensitive my skin is, right?”

“Happily, yes I do.”

“Me, too,” she said softly. “I’d wake up at night, from the crawling or the biting. Screaming, of course, get them off, get them off–”

“Ah… last November?”

“Taking my shirt off while I sleep. Yeah, I lied to you, Alex. It’s not the heat. It’s ‘cause of the bugs, and that night I was drowned… well, it just all came back to me. I’m… sorry I wasn’t upfront with you about this.”

“And I am sorry I did not come to your side, immediately, when you woke up screaming. Very poor form for a loyal butler.”

She paused. “I was pretty mad at you.”

I tilted my head at her. “You had every right to be, Miss.”

Of all times to do it, Gilda blushed. I am never going to figure her out.

“Of course, Veronica was passed out or too drunk to come to me when I screamed. But I stopped just as soon as I woke up the neighbors, ‘cause they pounded on those damn paper-thin walls, yelling that they were gonna come in there and _‘fuck me up’_ if I didn’t quiet down. I was only six. It was pretty scary.”

“I can only imagine, my dear.”

“My piano teacher at grade school was still the one tutoring me at the time, and she didn’t want my skills to suffer during summer break, so she gave me lessons in her home. Then one day in August, it was just too hot outside, and not thinking, I put on a pair of shorts before going to my lesson.”

“Miss?”

“I usually wore long pants, even in summer, to hide the bites. They were particularly bad on my legs and butt.” I frowned. Bed bugs were not the most frightening insect to humans, hands down that was the spider. But bed bugs were thirsty. _All_ the time. “Anyway, she saw them, and asked about it...” She shook her head, “and I told her the truth.”

“You don’t think that was the right thing to do?”

“No, it was right, but Miss Waters-Mason… that was her name, with a hyphen, right?” Gilda yawned. “Us kids had trouble pronouncing it so we called her Watermelon. She loved it.” Gilda laughed. “Jeez, I just remembered that, just now. Hah.”

I smiled at her. Hopefully she’d finished the tale before she drifted off.

“Watermelon felt compelled to help me after that. She even mentioned adopting me at one point, but I was terrified, you know, that my mother might get pissed and screw it up out of some kind of revenge, and then there’d be no more piano for Gillie. To tell you the truth, I never even _told_ Veronica about being able to play because of that. I was always scared she was going to find a way to take it away from me, so she died never knowing.”

“I might have said that it’s amazing your mother never found out, but…”

“Yeah, it never occurred to her to snoop for something like that, because it wasn’t about her. Anyhow, I made Watermelon promise she wouldn’t go through with it, but at least she tried to help with the bugs. She gave me lotion that was supposed to help keep them off – smelled like shit and didn’t help.”

“I’m afraid no fragrance can mask your soul from such creatures.”

I knew she didn’t like bugs because they seemed to bite her more often than they did other people. It was probably true; such creatures are drawn to a sweet-smelling soul like Gilda’s. Cat and her kitties adore her for no apparent reason, and vicious stray dogs will wag their tails and sit at her feet like submissive puppies begging for her soft hands to _touch_.

“You mean _they_ can smell me too?”

“Yes. Like my kind, they just _know.”_

“Gross!” She shivered, and I squeezed her hand.

“There are no bugs in this manor, Miss Gilda. You have my word.”

She smiled then, very happy. “I _know_. I haven’t been bitten once since we contracted.”

“That’s not entirely accurate… _I_ bit you.”

“That doesn’t count, Alexander. I wanted you to, and it was fun.”

“Yes. It certainly was.”

She blushed again.

“One day after that, I decided to go through Watermelon’s sheet music so I could surprise her by playing something new. I pulled open a drawer, and there was a little wooden ball in the drawer with the music, rolling around on the papers. When I picked it up, it smelled strong. I took it into her kitchen where she was pouring us some lemonade, and asked her about it. She said it was cedar wood, and it kept away the moths. So my little brain started thinking…”

“That it might keep away the other bugs as well?”

“Yeah. She gave me a bag of them and told me to put them in with my socks and underwear. I took them home, and put a few in with my socks, but most of them… Well, I put them in the bed with me.”

“But it didn’t work?”

“No, it didn’t. But I really liked how it smelled. And it reminded me of being with Watermelon, and sheet music, which were two things that made me happy. So cedar is a good smell for me.”

“My goodness. And _I_ smell like this?”

“…Yes.” Another blush. “Um… is that on purpose?”

Not that I could lie to her even if I’d wanted to, but after such a confession, she deserved the truth. “I wish I could tell you no, but it _is_. My kind tends to smell different to each person we contract with, and it is always appealing to them.”

“Oh, I see.” She shrugged. “But… you smell like cedar and you _do_ keep the bugs away.” She yawned, growing sleepier by the second. “That’s pretty good, Alex.”

“Anything to please my Miss,” I said. Nudging Cat gently, my beauty woke up and leapt off my lap. I stood up and tucked Gilda in, and Ink never even woke up. A smart cat – he knew a good thing when he was laying on top of it.

I took my time kissing Gilda goodnight, savoring the feel of her sweet, drowsy lips as they mingled with my own. Then I wished her pleasant dreams and turned off her lamp, leaving her for the night. I kept at the ready, expecting her to revert to sleep-stripping, but she didn’t. Not even after that long discussion.

As I sat in my room, Cat climbed back in my lap once more, and I contemplated all that Gilda had told me. I found myself getting angry at the human race again. Bugs… biting her tiny young body, crawling on her at night… Life with her fool of a mother had been difficult enough, but no child deserves to grow up with that.

My poor Miss… All this and she still managed to climb up out of that pit on her own. What a worthy soul she was. I was lucky to have her.

 

+

 

A few days later I was washing the evening dishes, absently listening to Gilda as she practiced at the piano in the salon. I was so content with my task and the warm sudsy water and shiny pots and pans… I found myself daydreaming about my Mistress, Cat and the kittens, our contract, Gilda’s pinker parts, so many good things to think upon, that I hadn’t even noticed the piano playing had suddenly stopped at least five minutes previous. I rinsed the drinking glass I was holding and placed it in the drying rack. I was about to dry off my hands to pop into the salon and see if she needed me for anything, when I suddenly felt her presence behind me in the kitchen.

“Mistress, to what do I owe the pleasu–” I began, then huffed out a startled breath as she’d wrapped her arms around me suddenly, hugging me around my waist while I still faced a sink full of dirty dishes.

“Miss?”

I looked down to see her hands balled into fists as she held on to me tight, with her face – _so **warm** , too warm actually_ – pressed against my back, her forehead just reaching my shoulder blades.

“Are you ill?” I asked, feeling that dreadful panic again.

“ _No_ , I’m…” she sniffed again, and I felt the moisture of tears and a runny nose seeping through my shirt. “I’m fine.” She hugged me tighter, and I placed a wary hand, still wet from the dishwater, on one of hers.

“Why are you crying? What has upset you?”

“I’m not upset,” she said, still sniffling. She wasn’t wailing, she was just… I wasn’t really sure _what_ she was doing.

Gilda turned her face into my back, inhaling sharply as if to sob, then she turned her face to the opposite side. “I’m not upset,” she said again, whispering. “Just be quiet.”

I frowned. But, I would comply. “Of course, Miss.”

She went on hugging me for at least two minutes, and I did not ask her more questions. I didn’t say a thing, per her request. Where my hand had touched one of hers, I stroked her skin reassuringly from her balled fist to her elbow and back, not knowing what else to do, but not content to simply do nothing. She whimpered once or twice, but little else in the way of sound came out of her, save the sniffling.

It is very vexing, being desperate to help someone so important and not knowing _how_.

Frustrated, I was about to turn around and pick her up, press her to me, hug her, scold her, kiss her, whatever it took so that she’d stop making that _awful, silent noise,_ when her hold on me suddenly relaxed. One hand fell away, and came to rest on my back next to her face.

The other, still in a fist, leaned on the narrow band of countertop that was between my body and the stainless steel basin. Her fist opened, and when she pulled her hand away, a small wooden heart, about two centimeters wide, lay before me on the countertop. The scent of cedar drifted up to my nose.

Ever so gently, Gilda pushed herself off of me and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me to my dishes.

 

+

 

I’d ordered them off of the internet, you know, damn useful thing that ‘the web’ is.

A few days after she’d revealed her carefully guarded secret, I had intended just to find plain round balls of cedar, and toss a few in her sock drawer, as a treat that she may discover one day… maybe putting a smile on that pretty face of hers. But the variety of available items was stunning, and it opened up the opportunity to make this a very special gesture indeed.

There were a multitude of carved shapes and sizes, as well as pretty sachets with cedar shavings in them, statues, clothes hangers, ‘simmering’ potpourri and the like. I spent over two hundred dollars, and I requested absolutely, positively, overnight delivery.

I put miniature carved cats and kittens in her sock drawer, and winking smiley faces in with her panties and brassieres. I replaced all her hangers with finely crafted ones made of cedar, and I hung sachets in her closet as well.

Exquisitely carved maple leaves were scattered in the drawers of her vanity. Then in the basement, I put stars in the chest of drawers in her private changing room. In the library, I left small statues in various inconspicuous spots throughout, on the desks and tables and lamp stands… Buddhas and Paleolithic Venus figurines, Dionysus (of course) and sweet bunny rabbits, all never too large to be obvious, and each as fragrant as the last.

Finally, saving the best for last… Gilda kept her sheet music in an ornate cabinet, a rare piece of antique furniture I’d located that had been crafted for just that purpose (I still had no idea what was in the piano bench; an order is an order after all). I put some fragrant pieces of cedar in each narrow drawer, lovingly scattered across the staff paper, just as her elementary school music teacher had done. Only these were sweet little hearts. It was the only place she could have gotten the one now sitting before me on the sink.

These things had arrived yesterday, and I had put them in all of their proper places last night, even replacing the clothes hangers, while she’d slept. She had definitely been in every one of the rooms I just mentioned since that morning, so I had no doubt the hearts were not the first pieces she had found.

I had expected her to be happy about what I’d done… but I had not expected such an outpouring of emotion.

I stared down at the heart, at a loss for words. All this time I’d underestimated just how wretched my Mistress’ early life was, and I’d learned that lesson when she finally told me what the smell of cedar had meant to her only a few days previous.

Truthfully, I hadn’t intended for this to happen between us, not ever – one’s duties as a butler are what they are, and one does not expect thanks from one’s employer. All I had done was pay attention to her, and that’s it. From my point of view, I hadn’t done anything that remarkable. My mistress had shared a painful secret with me, and I’d listened, and then I reacted.

But I will not lie. Her silent admission had revealed just how grateful she was, and it made me feel spectacular.

Gilda was sure to graduate, with some of the highest honors the conservatory had ever seen, no doubt. Together we would complete this contract. I was hungrier than ever, yet I found myself beginning to regret the fact that our time together was coming to an end, and June would be upon us all too quickly…

 

+

 

On the first Tuesday in May, Gilda was feeling anxious. It was bad enough that she no longer had classes; as much as that girl doesn’t care to socialize, being without the structure of organized learning in a classroom was making her a bit stir crazy. The conducting final was only two weeks away, but even that did not have her as wound up as this.

She was waiting, and no longer patiently, to hear back from the board as to whether or not her composition had been accepted for her final recital. Seniors were told they would be given personal notice starting Monday. Here it was late in the afternoon on Tuesday, and she still hadn’t received word. She was muttering to herself, looking out of the front windows and checking her voice mail on her cell phone every fifteen minutes. And the longer the day wore on, the crankier she became.

On any other day, I’d have given her something savory to get her mind off of things, like oral sex followed by nachos in bed, but it was a Tuesday and the staff was in, doing whatever it was that they did. From what I could tell, their time here consisted of fifteen minutes conferring together on Gilda’s money, then Uncle Rafael went off to cook, and Michael and Evelyn got lost in our library or went swimming. I didn’t interfere. They had it under control.

It would have been rude and suspicious just to toss them out. But then I made the mistake of telling Gilda that she either needed to find a way to relax, or should go practice. She got a bit upset by that, so I wandered off to my private room and tried to stay out of her way, resigning myself to organizing some paperwork at my desk.

Within fifteen minutes she lumbered in to my room, tossed herself on my couch and sighed loudly. I set down my pencil and addressed her.

“Mistress?”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Apology accepted. And I am sorry I can’t seem to relieve your anxiety about the recital. Is there anything I _can_ do for you?”

She lolled her head over and gave me a sarcastic frown. “I doubt that’s feasible while the _staff_ is here, Alex.”

“Ah. I see.” She eyed me further, and I have to admit that I love the way she glares at me.

All we needed was ten minutes of privacy, and then she could soak in a bathtub while I got back to work.

I got up from the desk chair and began walking to the door of my room. I could feel her tracking my movements as I grasped the handle of the door and began to close it. Before it was fully shut, Gilda sat up on the couch and spoke.

“Leave it open some.”

I paused. “Miss wishes to live dangerously?”

“I can be quiet if you can.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “That is a bet I will participate in.”

She pat the cushion next to her. “Come sit here, on the couch.”

I obliged, sitting down next to her, close enough that my trousers were touching her jeans, thigh against thigh. We sat like that in silence for a moment, neither one trying anything, before I finally spoke.

“Miss? Did you want me to–”

“Hush,” she said, whispering. “Quiet, remember?”

I nodded. Leaning towards her, I placed a hand on one side of her face and whispered in her ear on the other.

“Miss is fretting over her recital piece still?” She nodded, her cheek rubbing against mine. “You are a bundle of nerves today,” I said, then kissed the corner of her eye. “What about your conducting final next week? Does that not have you concerned?”

She leaned back, putting a hand on my shoulder for balance. “I’ll worry about that five minutes before I go on. The recital is more important.” Gilda looked at me and smiled, then she stood up abruptly. She pivoted, and balancing one hand on my right shoulder, she sat down in my lap with no warning.

She grabbed each hand, and removed my gloves on at a time, whispering, “First things first,” before tossing them on the floor. “That’s better,” she said slyly.

Gilda watched me as she took one of my index fingers into her mouth and started sucking on it softly. I am sure my face registered the shock I was feeling, as I saw a smile grow on her face. My finger was deep in her mouth before she pulled it out slowly. She moved on to the next two, my middle and ring fingers, and put them both into her mouth at the same time.

I closed my eyes and tried not to get too excited.

She pulled those two fingers from her mouth, very slowly, then gave each tip a sweet kiss. Gilda licked her lips and leaned up to my ear, whispering. “Is that enough?”

I tilted my head, trying and failing to get my ear away from her warm, moist lips. “Enough what, Miss?”

“Are two of your fingers enough for me to practice with? Or should I use three?”

_Oh gods…_

“Miss, you do not have to–”

“All right, if you aren’t going to tell me, I’ll just figure it out myself,” she whispered.

Gilda put a soft hand onto my crotch, and squeezed. I gasped quietly.

Her touch was gentle, nothing like the harpy that felt me up in February. Never taking her hand from me, she repositioned herself to where she was straddling my thighs.

“I think the Butler likes that,” she teased softly, and all that did was make it worse. “Oh, my. He _really_ likes that.” One hand became two, and the next thing I knew, she was squeezing and rubbing with one hand and cupping my testicles with the other. The thin fabric of my trousers and boxer shorts was the only thing separating our skin.

She kissed the underside of my jaw, working her way up to my ear. “I definitely think three fingers,” she said, quiet and sweet. I became light headed, and I realized that the blood in my brain was headed straight for her hands. When the fingers of both her hands reached for my belt buckle and began undoing things, I grabbed her wrists – gently, _gently –_ and stilled her by holding her hands against my chest.

“Please don’t do that,” I said, as nicely as possible.

She eyed me, then her shoulders sagged.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t get this. Don’t you want me to make you feel as good as you make me feel?”

“That isn’t an issue. And I do feel good, every time I bring you to climax.”

“Can’t I at least touch you?”

Again. Again, again, _again_ , she is messing with my plans. She is _not_ going to take this away from me. She will _not_.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, Miss.”

“Alex, honestly… You _do_ come… right?”

“This is going to be a point of contention with you, isn’t it?”

“Alexander Michaelis, I _order_ you to tell me whether or not demons have orgasms,” she hissed.

_“Frequently,”_ I said tightly.

“So, what? Just not _now?”_ She asked, pulling her hands out from between mine. Her face was twisted into sarcastic disappointment.

“Lower your voice, Miss.” She opened her mouth to say something else, thought better of it, then crossed her arms angrily. “Miss Gilda,” I said gently, picking her up from my lap and setting her back on the couch. “Please, I know you are anxious today, but do not let that influence things between us. I do not wish to taint our–”

_“Forget it,”_ she barked, getting up to leave.

Angry, I stood up and grabbed the sleeve of her top, pulling hard until she stopped in her tracks. Yanking on her arm to get her to face me, I felt my eyes glowing with hellfire.

“You are rushing things,” I said through clenched fangs.

At first I thought she was frightened, the way her face twisted and her eyes grew glassy with tears. But then she spoke.

“Forty-three days, Alex.”

Eventually, I relaxed my grip on her sleeve, and my hand fell away.

_So she’s counting as well._

“That’s all I have left. You’ll go on living – _forever_ , I guess. But all _I_ have left is forty-three days.” Tears spilled out of her eyes and she brushed them away roughly. “I know you aren’t in love, but you don’t even… y-you won’t _let_ me…”

All right… So, there are some things even _I_ can’t refuse.

I sped past her, moving too fast for her to see, and closed the door to my room, locking it for good measure. Before she could even gasp, her upper arms were in my hands and I loomed before her. My eyes were still demonic, but my gaze was gentle. I pulled Gilda to me and kissed her soundly.

She relaxed into me immediately, and I noted with satisfaction that it took a hell of lot longer for her to relax with her friend Fortunado the other night when he’d held her.

_That is because she is **my** Miss._

When I cupped my hands under her cheeks and lifted her off her feet, her arms wound around my neck, and one leg lifted until she locked her foot around the back of my knee. Gilda sighed deeply into my mouth, sounding relieved and thrilled, both at the same time.

My hands still cupped her backside. I gripped her cheeks through her jeans, then slipped one hand down between them, rubbing the crotch of her jeans with my long fingers. She squeaked, and I felt her sex getting warmer and heavier by the second. Gilda’s body tensed with excitement. Supporting her weight with my hand cupping her crotch, I slid my other hand under the back of her top, relishing the feel of all that smooth skin that I love so much. Grabbing the hem, I quickly pulled the top over her head and removed the garment, exposing a lacy, purple bra. I kissed the top of one breast, and gave her sex a good squeeze, finding she was already wet under the fabric. Gilda gasped and her eyes clenched shut–

“Alex, _oh–”_

No. _No talking_. I kissed her instead, more aggressively than I’d ever done before. Gilda gripped the back of my head with both hands, pulling and tangling my hair in her fingers.

I was hard within seconds. She felt it, too, and her hips bucked forward into mine, a natural, _wonderful_ response.

I managed to move us back onto the couch. As I kneeled sideways on the cushions, I laid Gilda down beneath me, breaking our kiss. She moaned softly, pulling me down to her. She kissed me again, open-mouthed and erotic, and I felt like the sensations in mouth had a direct line of communication to my cock. I grew even harder, and my hips moved of their own accord, pushing my sex into hers, mimicking what she’d just done to me.

I kissed my way down to her breasts, and when I encountered the bra, I bit through the center of it and pushed it out of the way, not even bothering to see if there had been a clasp in front. Taking a nipple into my mouth, I heard her breathe in sharply, then she whispered the name she’d given me.

_This isn’t the way I wanted this to go,_ I thought. _There was supposed to be soft candlelight and a bed and no need for privacy…_

Those thoughts were trying to fight their way to the front of my brain, but then Gilda’s hot little hands were between us, pulling the hem of my shirt from my trousers and pushing it and my t-shirt up to get at the flesh of my stomach. She stroked my taut abdominal muscles and sighed as I suckled her nipple until it was as hard as a stone.

Her hands reached my belt, but she whined softly as she fumbled with the buckle’s clasp.

I sat up slightly, pulling my mouth from her nipple, and gently pushed her hands out of the way. The pink fire in my eyes was reflected in hers as she looked up at me. I was rapt; the need on her face was so beautiful.

I ripped my belt off in one smooth motion and tossed it across the room. I had six more of them, one for each day of the week, so it hardly mattered that number seven was now in shreds.

I returned my hands to her body, unbuttoning her jeans and pulling the zipper down. I rubbed her mound once through the fabric of her panties, and she gasped. I smiled at this reaction, but decided her body should get a _little_ bit more attention before I jumped right into her privates.

Her stomach trembled when I touched it. My hands followed my lips, as I kissed and touched my way back up to her mouth. I dragged my thumbs across the dark pink points of her nipples, kissing each one, then smoothed my palms up her neck, finally taking her face in my hands. As I leaned over to kiss her, I felt her hands return to my clothing.

Gilda unbuttoned my trousers and pulled the zipper down. Pushing the fabric aside, she stroked my hardened sex through my silk boxers, and I thought my brain was going to melt. Breaking from our kiss, she spoke against my lips.

“Alex, will you?” She swallowed hard. _“Please?”_

“On you, _in_ you, whatever Miss wishes,” I said quickly, kissing her hard.

She breathed faster, and slipped a hand under the waistband of my boxers. Her fingertips slid along my cock, just tentative little touches… until she wrapped her hand around me and held me there gently.

“Your skin is on fire,” she whispered, closing her eyes and tightening her grip on me just the slightest amount. “It’s hot… _smooth,”_ she breathed.

“Ah... Mistress is _so_ considerate.”

Releasing her face, I grabbed her jeans by the waistband and pulled them down past her hips. Gilda slipped her other hand into my boxers, and explored the rigid head of my penis with the pads of her fingers. I pulled her panties down, exposing her–

Something beeped. I froze. Gilda froze. It beeped again.

“No…” I said, my voice laced with lethal disappointment. I looked up, narrowing my eyes at the bank of monitors on the wall next to my door.

_“What?”_ Gilda whispered.

“Someone’s at the front gate,” I ground out. I looked back down at Gilda. She whimpered, covering her face with her hands.

“No no no no _no!”_ I thought she might start crying. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

As efficiently as possible with my shaking hands, I pulled her panties and jeans back up, buttoning her pants and closing her zipper. She grunted and gasped as sensitive, excited flesh was re-packed into her jeans, which were now tighter than before we’d started. Kissing her forehead, I reluctantly left her heated body and stood up, moving to the control panel of the alarm system.

“Well now. It’s Dean Manners, come to call.” I looked back at Gilda, smirking.

“Holy crap!”

She got up from the couch, and began searching for her top. I did the same with my own clothes, only I moved much faster. By the time she was slipping her top back over her head, I was fully dressed and running my hands through my hair to smooth it back into place, although my erection was still firmly in place and my trousers had an obvious bulge in them.

“Well,” I started. “I’ll see to this. Who knows what disaster awaits if I let _our staff_ greet him.”

“Aw… _dammit_ , Alex,” Gilda whined, clearly upset by the interruption.

“I know,” I sighed, pulling her against me and kissing the side of her head. “I am sorry, my dear.” The fact of the matter is, if we hadn’t been interrupted, I would’ve been buried to the hilt in her by now.

“We better get down there,” she said. “He’s got the fate of my recital in his hands, no doubt.”

“At least you’ll get _some_ sort of relief today. But give me a moment, will you?” I tensed, and closed my eyes to concentrate while I re-directed the blood in my cock to other areas until it contained a normal amount and I was mercifully flaccid once again. It was not easy, and was actually quite taxing and painful, especially when I was that far along… but pain and I, well, as you know we have a rather _special_ relationship.

I’d have preferred to let the turgid flesh calm down on its own, or even used ice (a method I was now a ‘pro’ at) as I’d done before – well, I’d have _preferred_ to have come inside my Miss like a raging bull – but we didn’t have time for that. I’d be paying for such an expenditure of my energy later, though, and would probably need to sleep for a few minutes to replenish my strength.

Or I’d kill something. That always helps.

I looked down at Gilda and saw that she was staring at the front of my trousers. Her eyes had bugged out. “How the fuck did you do that? I’m still all…”

She blushed fiercely.

_There’s my Miss. That’s the one I could buttle for, forever._

“Swollen?” I teased her, and she blushed even harder. Putting a hand to her cheek, I got my rather embarrassed Mistress to look me in the eyes again. “Really, Mistress, you flatter me. You are soaking wet, too. I can smell it. And your body is giving off a large amount of heat.”

She smiled up at me shyly, and it was glorious to see. I kissed her again.

“I, however, have collected my wits and put my blood back in the proper places. I am now fit for polite society. You should consider yourself lucky that the majority of your sex organs are on the inside, Mistress. Before you run down to greet Dean Manners all willy-nilly, I suggest a change of clothes. Fresh panties, definitely, and a nice dress perhaps, for your own comfort. You blue jeans look a bit damp and tight in the crotch right now.”

I shocked her with that one.

_Good_.

“Or, if Miss prefers… I could lock you in here, shoo him away, and then give you an orgasm that will make your toes curl.”

Gilda stood there, speechless. Eventually it sank in that this was the _Dean_ of her rather expensive school, and he’d come to personally deliver some news. She took a breath and shook her head ‘no’, and I smirked. I opened the door and poked my head out to see if anyone had come upstairs looking for us to deal with the Dean. The coast was clear. I leaned back, noting that Gilda was still speechless, and fighting off both a grin and a blush. I smiled wickedly.

“Poor little thing,” I croaked, tapping the tip of her nose with my now-gloved finger. “You do not seem to be capable of reigning in your desire all that easily unless it is quelled, my dear. Not that I am complaining, mind you. Satisfying you is always a bit of a challenge.”

With that, I straightened my collar, cleared my throat, and headed downstairs to greet our esteemed visitor.

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks! 
> 
> To hear Fortunado’s difficult piece, go to youtube, and enter in the search field:  
> The Rite of Spring - A Kiss of the Earth - Ritual of Abduction MokleEG


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> This started out as another huge chapter… only this time it had to be divided. Then, getting this one just the way I wanted it proved quite difficult. I re-wrote most of this chapter more than five times. I am sorry for the wait, but I’ve put far too much effort into this story to just go ahead and post something up even though I am not satisfied with it; so, waiting is going to happen.  
> Warning: Get out some sugar, so you can make some lemonade.
> 
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.

 

+

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 12**

 

+

 

Less than thirty minutes after we were interrupted, Gilda strolled down the stairs to greet the Dean where he was waiting in the front room. She was flushed, of course, smelling quite delicious to my sensitive nose, and I knew _why_ … but she _looked_ fresh as a daisy and behaved as gracious as could be, genuinely happy to see her guest.

_Good little girl._

Fortunately, I’d gotten down to the front door and responded to the Dean on the intercom before Rafael Fernandez had. I asked Fortunado’s uncle to have Michael and Evelyn leave through the back when they were done, and for him to remain in the kitchen for the duration of the Dean’s visit, which I did not anticipate to be lengthy.

Dean Manners was there to personally hand Gilda the approval for her composition to be used as her recital piece – which was news that we all anticipated, but the formalities still must be obeyed.

After hearing the news, Gilda stared down at her cute red flip flops – toenails sparkling with fetching dark orange polish, quickly applied to go with the flouncy, tasteful silk dress she had thrown on. Her hair was loose, and wavy from the recent perspiration no doubt, and it fell forward across her bare shoulders.

She didn’t present this side of herself too often, but Manners was obviously just as susceptible to her charms as everyone else. When Gilda bit her lip and breathed a sigh of relief, the Dean himself teased her.

“My goodness… Did you actually think it would be rejected?”

Slightly embarrassed, she didn’t answer, so I answered for her.

“My Young Miss has been out of sorts since yesterday afternoon, Dean Manners. I am afraid she expected to hear back from the board sooner than this, and it has given her some pause.”

_It gave **me** some pause too… The marvelous kind…_

“Oh, Gilda, I _am_ sorry!”

“It’s okay. Really, I overreacted is all.”

“No, no, I didn’t think about that. Of course you probably checked with Fortunado on his gaucho piece?”

“Yeah. He called me right after you called him.”

“And that was yesterday, early in the afternoon.”

The humans looked at each other, and winced.

“Again, my apologies. I saved you for last, actually, and for two reasons.”

He went on to tell Gilda that the board had several wonderful comments on the piece she had turned in for review. A composition meant only for piano, it was formally referred to as a _Concerto for Solo Piano._ The title, _‘That Butler: Gilded’_ , had intrigued them, and I must admit that my own head was still buzzing about that one – however now I felt complimented and appreciated, instead of confused and worried.

Her concerto was in the traditional style of three movements: First, a brisk _sonata_ , which she had titled ‘Cutlery’. _How very amusing!_ This was followed by the second movement, entitled ‘Linens’. It was slow and rich, building to a lovely climactic finish – such a tempo was perfectly suited to the subject matter. Between the thought of fresh linens on Gilda’s bed, and her laying before me on them, allowing me to slowly please her… there is no question as to why this was my favorite part of her composition.

It ended as these types of concertos did frequently, with a fast, complex _rondo_ finishing it off. She’d called that one ‘The Culinary Arts’.

Gilda had elected to break with tradition and put her cadenza in the second movement, and that was what the Dean wanted to discuss with her. When Manners began rattling off the comments and suggestions that he and the board had garnered for her, she became instantly unaware of anything else in the room, including _me_.

Gilda is both troubling and bewitching with the way she desperately wants to feel me moving inside her… but she is absolutely _obsessed_ with her craft.

_Student of the Arts._ I made a mental note to stay away from them in the future, no matter how good they may smell. Or how pretty their eyes are when they flash them at me. Or if they have a biting wit. Or if they make that ‘o’ with their lips…

Yes. I’ll have a long list of _don’ts_ when this is all said and done.

“I saved my favorite for last, Gilda. That’s you.” She blushed. “You have really created quite a stir with this concerto. The board and I do not wish to step on your toes, but given the excellence of the piece, we want to make sure you have ‘dotted every i' so to speak. That being said, I do have a few questions about the phrasing you may have planned in the cadenza.”

“But… that’s all gonna be improv. Shouldn’t I pretty much wait until the night of the performance, and just go with it?”

“You intend to practice beforehand, do you not? No matter what you hear about cadenzas, they are usually planned out beforehand, at least to a degree. I’m afraid you do not possess enough experience to successfully wing it on stage. Eh – don’t be insulted.”

“Oh, no. I’m not. You’re right, I haven’t racked up a lot of live performance. But we need to talk about this. Will you stay for some goodies? We can discuss this in the salon for a bit before you leave, okay? I want to get started right away–”

“All right, Franks, hold your horses. Remember the swing set now and then, yes?”

She giggled. Clearly this man had been one of her instructors over the years and knew about her one-track-mind. Thank the stars someone else besides _me_ had noticed it.

“Yes, thank you! I’ll stay, and… I have something else to ask of you. A favor, actually.”

“Shoot.”

“The senior party. Our venue double booked, and the Fornista-Akira wedding party trumps our little festivities. May I be so bold as to impose…”

My eyes lit up. I have a one-track-mind as well at times.

“Alex, stop drooling. Yes, Dean Manners, I would be happy to host the party here, in my home.”

“Really? Oh, thank you! That is such a weight off my shoulders. We will provide everything, of course, food, drink–”

My shoulders sagged and Gilda did not miss it.

“–entertainment, the works–”

“No, no, no. I insist that we handle all that. Just tell Alex what you have in mind, and leave the rest to him.” She turned away, muttering to herself, “or I’ll never hear the end of it…”

“Are you sure?” Manners asked, incredulous. He turned to me. “That’s a lot of work for one man, Mr. Michaelis.”

I smiled, eyes twinkling, bowing at the waist. “I assure you, Dean Manners, it is no trouble. In fact, it will be a pleasure. You see, I am simply one hell of a butler.” Manners laughed. “All you need do is supply me with the guest list and contact instructions, and I will personally oversee the entire event.”

“Yes, but by yourself? At least let me hire you some help!”

“No, sir, that will not be necessary. We have our own small staff. I will see to everything.”

“Gosh, this is… it’s great. Thanks Gilda. Just send me the bill when all is said and done.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll foot it.” He gaped at her. “Seriously, I’m loaded. Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m… I’m speechless.”

“Well, let’s just consider it my donation to the conservatory, okay?”

“Yes… Yes! Thank you! Wonderful!”

“Great. Now, let’s go into the salon, so that we can go over your suggestions!”

“Of course.”

“But, Miss…” I started, my voice sounding a bit pathetic even to my ears, “ _I_ have several questions about the party…”

“Go get some refreshments, and then you can join us in the salon, okay, Alex?”

It became obvious that our heated tryst of earlier was now on the back burner, and I can’t say that I was entirely unhappy about that. In fact, the Dean’s interruption had been advantageous. As badly as I wanted to lay claim to my Mistress in the biblical ( _do_ pardon that pun) sense, I was not thrilled with something so significant being fulfilled spontaneously. I still wanted control over that.

I entered the kitchen to make some refreshments, and told Uncle Rafael that he was free to leave, as it appeared the Dean was going to stay for a bit longer. He said he’d wait it out as he’d started a fresh pot of Marinara and it just _had_ to steep. I sighed, and whipped up some goodies as quickly as possible – I didn’t have much time, so I went with something simple, Deviled ham hors d'oeuvres and sugared plum petit-fours, along with some tea and coffee, assembling the treats as fast as I could. I left, taking the beverages and the treats into the salon with me, before Gilda could completely monopolize the Dean’s time.

At one point an hour or so later, Uncle Rafael entered the salon with some mozzarella sticks and marinara, and for a moment we had an issue. Obviously, he’d made the innocent assumption that the Dean had already left, but we were in fact still talking. Rafael stood stock-still, realizing his mistake, and stared at the Dean with a plate full of food in his hands.

“Don’t I _know_ you?”

They had met once or twice over the years, as Fortunado was technically Rafael’s ward, and it was Rafael’s signature on the checks that paid his enormous tuition bills.

I looked at the Dean. He was looking at Rafael, who in turn looked at Gilda, with desperation on his face. She swallowed hard. Rafael looked at me. I looked at Gilda. She wasn’t going to speak up either, stricken as she was.

“This is... our chef, Guido.” Dean Manners looked at me. “He’s bringing Miss Gilda her evening snack.”

“No, no… I’ve swear I’ve _seen_ you somewhere before.”

There was silence before Rafael broke into a hapless grin and bowed one too many times, while blubbering in the most atrocious Italian accent I have ever heard in my long, trying existence.

“Scoozey, gratsy, ah… Espresso. _Formaggio!_ Marinara?” he asked, showing the Dean the tray.

I put a hand to my head and sighed before taking the tray, setting it down on a table and ushering the man out of the room.

“So sorry,” I said, re-entering the room.

“He looked terrified,” the Dean said. “Is he all right?”

“Indeed. Guido is a brilliant chef but he gets rather flustered when actually confronted with a guest. I assure you, Dean Manners, he won’t be an issue at the party.”

“Oh, that’s okay. With great chefs, personality quirks are the norm. I can hardly wait to see what he cooks up!”

“I am sure it will be delicious. Do you not agree, Mistress?”

She hesitated, looking me in the eye. Smirking, she said, “Everything of chef’s that I have tasted so far has been scrumptious.”

The Dean looked at her.

“I will be sure and tell him that, Mistress. No doubt he will appreciate the compliment.”

The Dean looked at me.

“I should probably give him a _raise,”_ she said, pointedly.

“I am sure he would enjoy that as well.”

The Dean tilted his head at us, no doubt sensing something more to the conversation. Before that could go any further, I cleared my throat and Gilda got Manners’ attention back onto her composition.

As the afternoon bled into evening, the poor man was torn between answering Gilda’s questions and mine. Given our personalities, it was no surprise that we began competing for Dean Manners’ attention.

Eventually Gilda got what she needed from the Dean and began incorporating his suggestions into her notes. As she sat quietly on the couch in the salon, one pencil propped on her ear and another already in her mouth, her notes were spread out on the table before her, and she appeared to be oblivious to us _both_ now. Smiling, Manners shook his head and followed me into the main hall.

“I haven’t had a student like that in years. Dedicated to the point of rudeness, but you forgive her every time. She’s quite the charmer, isn’t she?” he mused, as I steered him into the study.

“Yes, sir. My Miss is a remarkable young woman.”

“And to have a concerto written in your honor! She must be very fond of you, Mr. Michaelis.”

_The feeling is mutual._

“Indeed. I am beside myself with flattery.”

Manners left a little while after that, after answering my questions and promising to ‘email’ me the guest list as soon as he got home. There was a lot to do and I was thrilled to do it. But there was something else thrilling that I still wanted to do…

Ah, no such luck. Manners had stayed well into the evening, long past when the staff had snuck out. By the time I opened the gate for the Dean and locked up, I found Gilda fast asleep on a pile of notes on the couch.

Sighing, I put sex out of my mind for the time being, and carried her upstairs. Her bath would have to wait until the morning. She never woke up, not even as I changed her clothes for bed. She muttered in her sleep a bit, though, saying things like _allegro_ and _last_ and _better_. I didn’t take much for me to figure that one out. With the Dean’s approval and long visit behind us, it was clear she was going to be obsessed with polishing her recital piece.

Here we go again. I was going to have to work even harder to get her attention back on me. But I only needed it for a moment. Just long enough to spark her desire again, and then… I would take her.

 

+

 

Several days passed, and it was now Saturday. Her conducting final was next Thursday, and the party was the week after that.

We did not resume what we had started on the couch in my room. In fact, we had barely even behaved in a flirtatious manner. She was spending her days in the salon, scratching out notes on staff paper, practicing, cursing. I fed her regularly, bathing and clothed her as needed, but she was like an animal – a maddened, albeit intelligent bird, obsessed with re-feathering its nest over and over each day. She woke up and got right to work, didn’t return her friend’s calls, and stayed up late into the night pouring over her notes in either the salon or the library.

I spent my time taking care of her, carrying her sleeping form up to bed at night, and of course planning and beginning to make arrangements for the party. However, I had an obsession of my own to deal with, and she _wasn’t_ cooperating _._

By Saturday afternoon I’d had my fill. The weather was beautiful, warm sunshine with a few breezy clouds in a clear sky. It was seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit, which was warm enough for bare feet, but not hot enough to be uncomfortable. Packing a delicious picnic basket with all the supplies, I left the house to find a nice spot on her vast property for an impromptu date. Well, it would be impromptu for _her_.

She didn’t even notice I had left the house when I came back in, entered the salon, and picked her up – stripping her fingers right off the keys of that damn piano, and lifting her from the bench.

“Alex, what the fuck–”

“Miss needs a break,” I said pleasantly, my eyes twinkling.

“I _need_ to _work_ –”

“Indulge me,” I said flatly, mimicking my own behavior from that time last Fall when I was worried that David Taylor had possibly hurt her wrists. I felt my eyes aglow, and my fangs had popped out for good measure.

She quieted, looking subdued, and slowly put her hands around my shoulders.

“There’s a good girl,” I said, cheerfulness returning to my voice.

I carried her to the French doors of the salon, and managed to get one of them opened. I began to run with her in my arms, and at first she hid her face from the wind, but when she felt me lift into the air, she opened her eyes and grinned.

Adrenaline junkie. I had forgotten this.

Hopping from tree tops to rock formations, I leapt over a medium-sized stream and entered a line of trees. I slowed to a walk, and about two minutes later we were standing at the edge of a clearing. It was circular, close to two hundred feet in diameter, and was bordered on all sides by thick trees, with patches of wildflowers and boulders dotted throughout the clearing. Her eyes lit up at the sight.

“Does Miss approve?”

“It’s beautiful, Alex. But what am I approving it for?”

Setting her to her feet, I walked behind a boulder and re-appeared with the picnic basket and large blanket. Coming up to her, she grinned, and I asked her to hold the basket for me for a moment.

“Where are you going?” she asked, as I headed towards the center of the clearing.

“Do not be alarmed. You should be safe where you are standing. Please… will you stay there until I come back, Miss?”

“All… All right,” she said, sounding confused.

She watched as I walked towards the center with the blanket, and turned a few times, inspecting a clear spot. I paused, gathering my energy, then stomped on the ground with one foot, shaking the earth and sending a small amount of my demonic force skittering across the grass and rocks. I had only intended for it to affect a thirty-foot radius or so, but when I looked up at Gilda, she had fallen to her knees.

Fearing for her safety, I dropped the blanket and returned to her side in an instant.

“Are you all right, Miss? _Miss!”_

She shook her head, as if to clear it. When I put my hands on her and got her to her feet, she wavered just a bit.

“I’m okay,” she muttered. “Wow. I’m… What was that?”

“I let loose some of my energy. Did you actually feel that, Mistress?”

“Yeah. It was… well, I don’t _know_ how to describe it.”

“You should not have felt that. Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

“No, not at all. It didn’t hurt. It just kind of buzzed,” she smiled at me. “What were you doing, anyway?”

“I obliterated all the nearby bugs so that they will not disturb our luncheon.”

She grinned happily. “Oh, Alexander… you’re the _best.”_

 

+

 

I prepared the courses, and presented each one to her. She ate every bite, praising me with compliments as she went. We chatted some in-between plates, mostly about nothing, but it was very pleasant. When she finished, I suggested she rest her head in my lap and take a nap. She agreed, and I thought she would sleep some. The plan was to fill her full of good food, then have her drift off. Then I could lay her down on the blanket, and wake her up some time later in the most agreeable fashion.

Despite the fact that I was running my hands through her hair and caressing her face, she simply wasn’t sleepy. On to plan ‘B’, which was, simply, to _take her._

Eventually Gilda rolled over and lay on her stomach next to my side. She kicked off her flip flops, and crossed her legs at the ankles. Resting her chin on her folded arms, she closed her eyes and hummed as I rubbed her back through her soft t-shirt.

_No brassiere. Good. Less to remove._

I perused the rest of her outfit, once again noting with chagrin her skirt. She was wearing that god-forsaken plaid school-girl number again. It was hideous, but it _did_ provide me with a splendid view of her legs. Some time passed, me eventually getting my hand under her t-shirt, stroking smooth skin. I gazed at her strong legs, dreaming about how good they’d feel wrapped around my waist… when I noticed she was not asleep at all. She was very much awake and… _practicing_ on the blanket.

Good Lord.

My fangs were beginning to grind.

“It’s a lovely day today, Mistress, is it not?”

Nothing. She just kept pressing those damnable imaginary keys.

“A bit warm perhaps, considering it is still Spring. But there is a very pleasant breeze.”

“Uh huh,” she muttered, obviously not listening.

“Did you know that the moles on your back can be connected to form the constellation for Ursa Major?” I’ve spent enough time looking at her back to know that it’s true.

“Uh...”

“Legend has it that Zeus created that astronomical pattern when he turned Callisto into a bear and tossed her into the heavens.”

Silence.

“Callisto was a nymph, you know. They were rather uninhibited when it came to sex.”

She banged out a few more notes on the blanket, then stopped.

“What?” she said, annoyed. She sat up. “What are you going on about?”

I cocked an eyebrow. _Sex_. Apparently that word had made it through. It was now or never.

Reaching out with hands too quick for her to see, I grabbed Gilda and sat her in my lap, leaning her back. When she gasped, her mouth opened, and I seized the opportunity to put my tongue in it.

She fought me for just a moment, then she stilled and kissed me back. Cradling her neck in my hand, I let that go on for a bit. When she moaned quietly, I pulled back and kissed the tip of her nose.

“There. Now that I have your attention, you need to stop thinking about your recital. You need to _relax_. So for now… just think about _me_.”

Gilda frowned, then smirked rudely at me. “Think? About _you?_ Heh…”

“And just _what_ was that laugh for?”

“This is my _piano recital_ we are talking about. You’re gonna have to do a lot better than a kiss, Demon.”

My only response was to stare down at her. I was _wounded_ , I tell you. One kiss from me and she’s usually the one barreling forward with the clothes-pulling and bare-skin stroking. Instead, Gilda sighed disgustedly at my silence, and tried to get up.

_Oh no. Not this time._

I held her down. She glanced up at me, and for a moment, she looked frightened. Then I watched, delighted, as her resolve kicked in and that sweet stubborn streak bubbled up. She began to struggle and I began to laugh.

“Let me up, Alex!”

“But, it was a very _good_ kiss, Mistress.”

Now, at this point you are probably thinking that I could have gotten rough with her in order to get my way. I imagine the more intelligent members of your community are saying that I _should_ get rough with the little brat, and you are probably correct. But, I took another tack, and for once I am delighted to report that I got it right in one.

Gilda froze as she felt one of my hands sneak down to finger the hem of her blasphemously short plaid skirt. Slowly, but with confident purpose, I slid the tips of my fingers over the crisp edge of the wool. She gaped at me for just a moment, and I narrowed my eyes at her.

“I put forth a lot of effort into this little outing. You need to learn some manners, my dear.”

I slid my hand up her hip, her smooth skin growing hot against mine. My fingers reached the silk of her boy shorts, and I felt her entire body twitch. She pinked up for me all right – _Magenta. Lovely._

It was a Saturday. Playing by the rules it was her day to pick her clothing, but I felt gratified that she’d at least worn the panties I’d set out for her that morning. I hadn’t picked the harlot-in-heat ensemble she was about to be divested of, of course, that was all _her_ decision. And yet, that damn skirt was proving itself to be yet another advantage for me, because I had, in fact, foolishly selected walking shorts, and there is _nothing_ like an open floor plan!

She still hadn’t said anything. Hopefully it would stay that way for a bit. I fisted my hand and gently slid my knuckles back and forth over her sex through the thin silk membrane. She whimpered.

“Am I doing better, then?” I teased.

She swallowed. I decided to skip a few steps, and moved two fingers past the crotch of her underwear. Slipping them inside of her only about halfway, I watched as she gripped the sleeve of the arm restraining her. She threw her head back, gasping.

Pleased with myself, I waited a beat, then asked, “Have you finally stopped thinking about piano keys?”

“Bastard,” she whispered angrily, looking back up at me.

I pulled my fingers out and quickly grabbed the crotch of her panties, yanking them down her thighs and past her knees, leaving them winding around her ankles. She shifted her legs, probably with the intent to try and get herself free of the garment, but that gave me an opening. Literally.

I cupped her sex and rested the pad of my thumb on her clitoris.

Oh, the clitoris! Have I ever told you how much I _like_ that little thing? Someday I shall write a volume of sonnets dedicated to it. It’ll be a two-sided book; one side devoted to the clitoris, the other to the penis, and they shall meet in a glorious center spread, with adorable color plates illustrating all the various ways to –

“Alex… _don’t_. Someone could…”

She pulled me out of my reverie, and I laughed out loud. “No one _could_ anything _._ Your property spans many acres. It has an eight-foot electric fence on every border. We’re a little over a mile and a half from the house. It’s Saturday. The staff is not here. You can scream your pretty little head off,” I said, and I noticed my voice had gone husky.

“Scream…?” she started, then swallowed hard. “Wh… What exactly are you planning here, Alex?”

I stared down at her, all-too-serious. “I intend to finish what you began in my room,” I said quietly. When she didn’t answer, I asked, “Does Miss have any objections to my plan?”

_Please, please, **please** do not deny me this._

“No,” she whispered. She looked both intrigued and frightened, and I admit the combination thoroughly excited me… but it was time to stop being silly.

I lifted Gilda from my lap and set her down on the blanket next to me. She removed the panties from her ankles and readjusted her position until she mimicked me, also kneeling. Her face still looked frightened, but I knew her well enough that if she truly felt as though she were in any danger, she’d have tried to run by now.

I toed off my shoes and pulled off my socks, throwing them somewhere behind me. “Let’s get more comfortable, shall we?” I asked, smiling cheerfully and reaching for her.

“So… do you intend to get naked as well, or are you just gonna… get comfortable?”

Her question stopped my hands cold. “Has that been an issue for you, Miss?”

She tilted her head, looking away. “Sometimes…”

“Why?”

“You’ve been reluctant to let me touch you. And when you have been naked with me, it never involves…”

“My penis?”

“I was going to say you don’t take anything for yourself, but yes. Your penis,” She swallowed. “I’m not sure what I’m going to get here. I mean, if you’re gonna strip me bare and play with me to your heart’s content, that’s great. But if you _are_ planning on having real sex with me, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t just pull junior out of your zipper and go at it, fully clothed…” She eyed me then. “Maybe I’m being greedy, Alex… But I want more. I want you there with me when it happens. Naked. Moving inside of me… _Coming_. I want the whole damn thing.”

She looked down then, playing with the edge of her skirt. I think she was embarrassed to have told such a truth, but what she didn’t realize yet was that I wanted the exact same thing.

I hadn’t given her any reason to expect it, however. My fault. I should have known better than to think she’d just accept whatever I told her, and not start analyzing things. She wasn’t yet nude, but some sort of declaration on my part was clearly needed, and quickly, before this turned into an argument.

In the blink of an eye I had my clothes off, every last stitch of fabric, and was kneeling before her again.

_“Naked._ Two more to go.”

She grinned.

Now… it was _her_ turn.

I got up to my knees and inched towards her slowly.

Reaching out to touch her chest, I stroked her breasts through the soft cotton of her t-shirt, until the nipples hardened to points under my fingers. Gilda’s head tilted and her eyes closed. She moaned softly, raising her hands to cover mine, not pushing me, not directing me… just following the movements of my hands with her own.

“Do you like that?” I whispered. I loved that she was deep in the moment, but we were just getting started. When her eyes opened, they were dark with lust, and I felt her tremble under my hands.

“Very much,” she whispered back, her voice shaking.

“Let’s take this off. I want to _see_ those cute little nipples.” She removed her hands from mine as I clutched the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head slowly. Her breasts bobbed free of the fabric, round and supple in the sun, nipples so tight from the stimulation. Gently, I dragged the t-shirt the rest of the way over her head, until her arms slid through the sleeves and her long hair snaked through the neck.

Her t-shirt got tossed onto the grass with the other articles of clothing, and her upper body was now exposed. There was no way I was going to take my eyes off of her, not with all that beautiful flesh in front of me. I reached for a breast with one hand, cupping the bottom. Stroking the side of her face with my other hand, I looked her in the eyes.

“So beautiful.”

Magenta, head to toe. She smiled and averted her eyes. Leaning forward, I kissed and tasted her nipples assiduously, moving from one side to the other and back again. Gilda trembled further, lolling her head back. She ran a hand though my dark hair, and clutched at my shoulder with the other.

“Alex…”

I murmured an agreement, not yet ready to stop sampling her luscious breasts. Her body rose to meet my mouth, and I smelled the rich, ripe scent of her arousal as it intensified. Kissing my way up her décolletage to her lips, I wrapped my arms around her, trapping her against my chest. With Gilda’s palms resting there, I broke the kiss and spoke against her lips.

“Will you touch me, Miss?”

She nodded, swallowing hard. Her fingers were shaking, almost uncontrollably, as she reached down between us and grazed me, partially erect, with her fingertips. She tried to still them enough to wrap a hand around me, but she simply couldn’t accomplish it. Gilda cursed under her breath, and I noticed her voice was shaking as badly as her hands.

I expected her to be nervous, but not _this_ much. Scaring her to death was not part of the plan, so I forced myself to bury any frustration I may have felt in light of Gilda’s obvious jitters. I took her trembling hands in my own, stilling her, and looked in her eyes.

“Miss is scared.”

“Yeah. A little.”

“You certainly aren’t a virgin.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that, Alex.”

“Then tell me. You _must_ tell me. I can detect what you are feeling in your scent, but I will never be able to read your mind.”

“I’ve never actually…” she swallowed. “I’ve never been in love before, so I’ve never been _with_ someone… while feeling like that.”

“You were eager to have me that day in my room.”

“I know. But I approached you. And we were frantic. This is… _different.”_

“Better?”

“Yes. Definitely. Just… scary.”

I smiled at her, our faces very close. Touching her forehead with mine, I whispered, “I promise you that I will not hurt you, and you have no reason to be afraid, but I understand why you feel that way. Be assured I am neither put off nor offended by it.” Setting her hands aside, I took her face in my hands and kissed her. “Leave everything to me.”

I removed her skirt, the last barrier between us, then asked her to lay across the blanket. She nodded, complying. I looked down at her nude body, so beautiful in the sunlight. “Such a gift,” I said, leaning over her and kissing her contract mark lightly, carefully avoiding that sensitive, tumescent mons I loved so well.

_Slowly_ , I reminded myself. _Do not rush. Be like molasses._

I licked her belly button and kissed her hipbones. My cock brushed against her knee as I shifted again, and the contact sent tremors though us both. When I finally reached her mound, I kissed it lightly, over and over, listening to her struggle to keep from whining and writhing beneath me. She ran her fingers through my hair, and I purred in contentment, rubbing the side of my face against her body.

“Mistress is _so_ receptive to my touch. She makes me feel young again.”

“Alex?” she asked, and my eyes traveled up her body until my gaze rested on her face.

“Yes, my Young Miss?”

“How about I try touching _you_ again?”

“Of course. Please do.”

We both sat up, her head lower than mine as I was still kneeling. Gently, Gilda took my cock in her hands, still trembling, but not nearly as much. She tested my foreskin, moving it back and forth over the ridge of the glans. I sighed and hardened, slowly, as I relished the feel of her soft, slightly cold hands timidly exploring my genitals. When she leaned in and kissed my chest, my cock twitched in her hands and she hummed happily.

My Gilda. Mature beyond her years in many ways, yet still like a child in others.

Taking her shoulders in my hands, I maneuvered Gilda until she was stretched out across the blanket again. Laying down casually on my side next to her, I rested my swollen cock across her hipbone, and placed a hand on her tummy, rubbing the contract mark.

“Miss is satisfied with my body?”

She paused, gazing over at me. “Satisfied doesn’t begin to cut it, Alex. You’re beautiful, every inch of you, and I want you inside me.” She shivered again.

“Patience,” I said, looking down at her with affection.

I leaned over to kiss her, my hand traveling up to her breast. Keeping most of my weight on the blanket, I rolled a bit more towards her, draping myself halfway across her body. My erection moved with me, now rubbing against her precious mound, and she shivered. I froze when she reached down to trap my shaft with her palm and used it to push down against her body. I smiled at her as her eyes closed and she gasped.

She sighed. “What is this _… here?”_ Gilda continued to rub the side of my cock against her mound, oblivious to what her actions may have been doing to me. She closed her eyes again and her back arched as she continued, pushing down on herself with my hardened cock, using it as she pleased.

_Good. If we are going to do this, I **want** her selfish. _

“That is called your mons, and yours is particularly sensitive.” I ground out the words, trying not to sound like her use of my cock as a makeshift sex toy wasn’t about to undo me altogether.

“I like it when you touch me there.”

“Hm… I like what you are doing right _now_ , Miss… But,” I began, pushing her hand away, “I think we need to move on.” She bit her lip, blushing fiercely. She looked like she was about to apologize, so I stopped her with another kiss.

I distracted her with many sweet kisses while I maneuvered myself until I was laying between her legs. Sitting up on my haunches, I took her ankles in my hands. She whispered, “You’re sneaky,” and smiled up at me.

“Indeed. One of my best qualities.”

Looming above her as she lay on her back, I bucked my hips forward, and my cock slid against her lower stomach, back and forth over that sensitive spot we have both come to love so well.

I smiled down at her. Such a lovely view. “Tell me what else you like.”

“Kissing. I _love_ the way you kiss.”

“That is something we _both_ excel at.”

I thrust against her stomach again, watching her carefully, making sure she was ready for what was about to happen. I backed my hips off from hers with each downward stroke, just a little bit more each time, until I had backed off so much that I was nearly falling off of her, and my glans was just beginning to poke at her clitoral hood.

“Alex,” she cried, lolling her head to the side and biting a finger. With the next stroke, I pushed myself into her, about two inches, and stilled.

“Oh… Alex. Alex, that’s…” her voice trailed off, unable to finish. She didn’t need to.

“Ah… my _Mistress.”_

Our hearts were beating rapidly in our chests, and I had to struggle not to just _push_ and _claim_ and **_come_** , forget the molasses, just fuck her silly–

But that isn’t what she wanted. It isn’t what she _needed_. And I lived to fulfill her needs.

Slowly, surely, I began to thrust again, further and further in each time, until I was finally buried in her. I pulled myself out, everything but the head, because it refused to vacate that soft, wet paradise now that it had its first taste. In and out, over and over. She felt like creamy velvet against my shaft, growing wetter with each stroke.

She moaned softly again, and opened her eyes to look up at me.

“All right?” I asked, my voice gentle. I swear I love this girl, but if she tells me to stop I won’t be able to. I’ll _refuse_ , and then she’ll never know anything, except greed and _rape_ , and–

“That’s _two,”_ she managed to quip, smiling nervously. “You’re moving inside me, Alex.”

“So sweet,” I said, smirking down at her.

Lowering my grip on her legs to her calves, I moved just a tad faster, using long, constant strokes. I felt the steady rhythm of my movements undoing her composure. Her desire was coiling up inside of her, waiting to spring. Her soul was wide awake, taking note of all I was doing to her, teasing me, cheering me on.

Faster still, just a bit. My hands slid down to grip the backs of her thighs. Her legs stiffened and she cried out when my demon nails popped out and pressed deep into her flesh. I stopped thrusting and backed my nails off, but then Gilda sat up slightly, looking distraught.

“No, no, no…” she whispered, “It’s good. I like that. Don’t stop.”

I dug them in again, smiling down at her wickedly. Not hard enough to draw blood, never like _that_.

Well… not unless she told me to. But they’d leave marks for a few days. As long as she didn’t go in swimming with her friends or wear shorts on Tuesdays, our secret would be kept safe.

Gilda squirmed for a moment at the pain, grinning, and then lay back down. I resumed pushing into her.

Several minutes went by, both of us lost to what we were doing. No talking, just the magical, wonderful rhythm of our bodies meeting for the first time. I was just as content to stay in our current position until I drove her to the edge, following her over it per her wishes… when she spoke my name and I looked down at her, questioning the strange expression on her face.

“Come down here, please,” she begged, reaching up to me with trembling, empty hands.

I cocked an eyebrow at her, confused. My ears had heard her words but there had been no comprehension. All I was aware of was wet and soft and tight and _Gilda_.

“Alex,”she whimpered, _“Please?_ Where are you? I feel like I’m floating away.”

Eventually enough blood made it back into my brain and I realized that Gilda needed me closer. I released her legs from my hands and lowered myself against her, laying almost entirely on top of her. Holding her tight, I stilled our bodies from all that movement.

_Too much too soon._

“I’ve got you Miss, you’re fine,” I whispered. I reached back to lift her legs up again, one at a time, until they were wrapped around my waist. “Hang on to me.”

She placed her hands on my chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why I’m–”

I cut her off, kissing her quickly, deeply.

Normally I didn’t go in for this much attachment during sex. I kept a bit of distance between myself and the prey, even if it was just a thin veil, and did not lay myself so bare to them. _Demon_ , remember? But I just couldn’t _help_ it with her; Gilda’s soul was dancing just beneath her skin, full of wonder and fear and love, and I wanted to bathe in it.

Pushing into her gently, I whispered, “Don’t think anymore, my sweet Miss.” My voice was hot against her neck. “Just _feel.”_

Our bodies slid against each other, slick with moisture. I managed to get a hand under her neck to support her as I moved faster, my hips undulating against her pelvis. All that contact only increased the sounds our bodies made, delicious smacking noises mingled with moans of pleasure.

We stayed on like that, pressed against each other and moving like the same creature. My head was beginning to spin, I still wasn’t sure if I truly _wanted_ to come, but she’d practically ordered me to and I knew I wouldn’t be able to prevent it–

“Alex, I’m…”

I saw the signs. “Faster now, Miss, hold onto me,” I managed, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I picked up the pace as I moved inside her.

“So… So _close,”_ she whispered, and her eyes shut tight as she slid her hands past my neck and pressed the pads of her fingers into my back. She crossed her ankles behind me and her back began to arch.

Little by little, I’d let it all go. No more holding back. No more waiting. She’d wanted this from me for such a long time, and I finally felt free enough to give it to her.

Gilda began digging her short fingernails into my skin. I growled in response, turning my head to the side so that I could claim her lips in a deep kiss. I was thrusting more aggressively than I imagined I ever could with such a sweet, non-violent girl. She whined once more, then I felt her orgasm hit. Gilda tore her mouth from mine and cried out the name she’d given me. It sounded sweet and plaintive on her lips, as though it were music that only I could hear.

“Mistress,” I whispered in her ear before I could stop myself. My voice was shaking, and if it sounded like I was begging, that’s because I was. Watching her come like that, so strong, I lost the battle for control.

I indulged myself in her abandon and we fell into that state of bliss together. I never wanted this sensation to end. It felt like forever as my fluid poured into her, her privates clenching around me, hearing her sigh the approval of my release, because of course… she _knew._

I had _finally_ taken something for myself.

 

+

 

I’ve had sex with plenty of humans over the millennia, coming off as I please left and right. But I hadn’t attained this level of intimacy with a soul of Gilda’s quality for nearly six and a half centuries. Not since the Duchess Torylox, and to be quite frank, that woman hadn’t even liked me all that much. It was as though I had come back to life. It felt _so_ good to finally let go like that. Everything we’d done before this had been very pleasant, but it felt so much better when I wasn’t forcing myself to hold back.

Gilda lay underneath me on our blanket for a long time while we both returned to earth after the marvelous high that only comes from an orgasm. Her legs were still wrapped tight around my waist, my hands were buried in her hair, my lips at her throat. I could feel the strong pulse of her jugular under my mouth. My sensitive ears heard the rush of her hot blood as it coursed through her heart, and I reveled in the warmth of her human body while it clung to mine.

Eventually I wrapped my arms around her, and got us into a sitting position with Gilda straddling my lap. I felt her trembling, though, and grew slightly concerned that I may have been too rough with her.

“Miss?”

“Just a minute,” she said, and her voice shook. “Just let me–”

She inhaled sharply and did not finish. I could smell the tears even before they began to fall from her eyes. I knew she was fighting with an intense emotional reaction, I could smell it, and she was probably embarrassed because she thought I’d hate it.

But this was Gilda. She was not Ciel and she was _certainly_ not the duchess. These tears were far from offensive. They had quite the opposite effect on me. And I didn’t feel a single ounce of guilt for having brought her to such a state.

I am not above teasing, however, even with one who adores me so.

She remained straddled across my lap, our bodies still joined, but she hid her face over my shoulder. It was too funny, really, and I allowed myself a wicked smile because she could not see me doing it.

“Let me guess. You need me, you want me… You’re in love with me, yes?”

_“Yes,”_ she said around her tears, sounding miserable for having to admit it out loud, which made me chuckle. “Stop _laughing_ at me,” she yelled, and pounded a fist on my shoulder. “Just because _you_ don’t feel that way… fucking _demon.”_

“Yes, I _am_ a ‘fucking demon’, which makes your anger towards me unjustified. I honestly cannot help myself, Miss. You’re too easy a target. But, I will admit,” she sniffed again, and leaned back to focus on my face. “You have become more important to me than anyone else in the entire universe. How’s _that_ for devotion to one’s employer?” She sighed angrily, then sobbed again, clinging tighter. I ran my hands over her bare back, slick with sweat. _So nice._

“I take it you’ve never had an orgasm like that before?”

“No, I _haven’t_ , all right?” She balanced herself on my shoulders and sat up for a moment, separating our bodies. All those wonderful, warm, sticky fluids seeped out, their scents wafting up between us to my sensitive nose.

What an amazing combination, petulant anger and extreme love radiating through her scent at the same time. I wiped away her tears, noting that they were already slowing down.

“Tell me what it felt like.”

“Like… Like I was trying to bust out of my skin.”

“Quite an accurate description. You were busting out – or at least your _soul_ was trying to, Miss. It was quite pleasant for me as well, because that was the most potent taste of it I’ve had yet.” She sighed, calming down. “The French call this feeling _la petite mort_ … the ‘little death’. Hedonistic idiots that they are, they actually got that one right.”

“Alex…” she whispered, looking down. “It’s always been so lackluster. Actually being with someone, I mean. But _that_ felt… amazing.” She lifted her eyes to mine, and they were captivating; glassy, dark, red-rimmed, framed by a flushed face. “I didn’t know it…” Gilda’s voice trailed off. She sniffed again, and a fresh bout of tears followed. When she hugged me tight, I squeezed back, but I honestly could not stop myself from poking even more fun at my fierce little Miss.

“Do you see, now? I _told_ you this would happen.” I tried to scold, but was unable to hide the humor in my voice.

“Oh, shut up. My heart isn’t breaking, you idiot. It’s the pheromones.”

“That expression is a cultural solecism. It is ambiguous.”

She winced. “Huh?”

“Pheromones play their part _before_ mating. What you are feeling the effects of right now is a hormone, actually,” I corrected her.

“Okay,” she sighed. “ _Endorphins_. Is that better?”

“Oxytocin, to be specific. A brain hormone, released during childbirth and sex.”

“Way to kill the mood, Alex. Sorry if I’m not being grammatically specific enough for you here,” she snapped. “I’m just a little… _overwhelmed_ is all,”

“Apologies, Miss. That is not _quite_ what I was referring to. I know your heart is not breaking. In fact, you are radiating so much affection for me right now it is making my head spin. A rather pleasant feeling, I might add.” She leaned back, looking a bit startled, so I wiped away more tears and kissed her. Gilda returned the kiss, but when she narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously, I chuckled.

“All I am trying to say is that I have ruined you.”

She frowned, clearly irritated. _“Ruined_ me?! _How?_ It’s just a few tears, for fuck’s sake, gimme a bre–”

“But I _have_ ruined you,” I said, interrupting her. She quieted as I wiped the rest of her tears away and smiled sweetly. “I have now had proper intercourse with you. _I_ have taken _you_ every possible way, save other positions that involve vaginal penetration, and you are completely in love with me… so now you will no longer be satisfied by sex with a mere human being, ever again,” I said smugly.

What? It’s the truth, and I bet you’d give a limb just to find out for yourself.

Gilda frowned, contemplating all I had said. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and pouted briefly. She rolled her eyes and let go the breath she was holding.

“Oh, all right. _So I’m ruined._ Happy?”

I should have been the one asking her that, but instead I couldn’t help myself and became smug again.

“Deliriously so.”

Gilda tried to look appalled at my conceit, but failed. Shaking her head, she gave in.

“Please, don’t make anymore fun. Maybe what just happened is an everyday thing for _you_ , but this was a big deal for me.”

I shook my head. “I’ve never had, and never will have an orgasm like that. Few of my kind can. We don’t have the capacity.”

“You’re telling me that you have no soul? So you can’t have a…?”

“Little death.”

“Yeah, that. I find that hard to believe.”

“We have souls. But the _quality_ of the one you possess is as rare amongst demons as it is amongst humans. So I tease you, yes, but you should realize that it is partly because I am thoroughly jealous of you.”

“Oh. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize.”

“Well, I’ll be in here soon enough,” she said, rubbing her palms against my bare chest. “If I have an orgasm in oblivion, will you feel it?”

It was quite clear this experience had rattled her – in a good way, of course, but it had unsettled her. And unfortunately I didn’t have an answer to her question, even if I _had_ wanted to answer it. Which I didn’t – I didn’t want to think about ending her life anymore. I wanted her chanting my name and in tears again.

She shivered, and I laid her down on the blanket on her back. Reclining on my side next to her, I kissed her softly for a long time.

_My precious Miss._

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you as well.”

I hadn’t even hesitated with that response.

She smiled up at me, and I knew right then she fully understood the situation. It was two _different_ loves, because we were two different _species_. As ingrained as that knowledge has been in _my_ brain for thousands of years, I realized it was not lost on Gilda, either, and that was a verycomforting thought.

I leaned over, whispering in her ear. “Forgive this old demon for making light of your first _little death_ … but this was just one. There will be many, many more to follow. I will see to it.”

Gilda stared at me, looking trapped. She began to shake again.

I smelled something in her; it was the same odor she was giving off not twenty minutes ago. It seemed familiar, and I realized it was adrenaline, coursing through her body. I had smelled it when we flew down from the Statue of Liberty, and again when I came back to her in the parking lot of that bait shop.

Ah… _Adrenaline Junkie_ , indeed. Naked sex and full-body orgasm wasn’t just an expression of love for her, it was a rush. Such a lovely, complex fragrance. How spectacular!

I know I am obsessed with deciphering and examining a delicate situation such as this, but some of the more confusing pieces were beginning to fit together. Deep in my black heart, I am still a bit perplexed at the fact that she can love a demon! I mean to eat her soul, and she _knows_ this; therefore, at the end of things, she adores nothing less than her own killer.

Gilda is a complicated human, as some of you are, but rarely. Artists, like scientists, often walk the line between hate and love. Oh, the distinction between the two remains – as you are human it cannot be helped. But the resistance towards _fear_ versus the enthusiasm towards _comfort_ is no longer an issue. All experiences become welcome… They feel joy watching a wolf protect and tend to its offspring, all the while knowing that this same wolf will later chase and kill a cute little bunny to nourish those babies. That part won’t be ‘fun’ to witness, but they do not recoil from it. They _accept_ it.

She continued to gaze up at me, shaking like a rabbit as it faces certain doom. As long as she still desires it, I will be her wolf.

“Well then… seeing as how we are already divested of our clothing, and you do not appear to be tired… shall we give it another go, Mistress?”

 

+

 

“That party you got goin’ on next week? For the school kids?”

“…Yes?”

“The Derricott kid’s gonna be at it. Just keep an eye on her.”

It was the Tuesday before Gilda’s conducting final, and Uncle Rafael was speaking quietly with me in the kitchen. The staff, along with Rafael’s underworld contacts, managed to dig up some dirt on Linda Derricott’s father and his connection to Norman Bellows.

“I really don’t think her daddy’s gonna do anything dumb. He was in on it, but he’s the type that refuses to get his hands dirty. So he lost quite a bit of cash helping Norm out, but the Derricotts have got a lot to spare, if you get my drift. As of right now, he just looks like another one of Bellows’ victims. So he’d be risking having his own finances investigated if he did anything stupid now.”

“I appreciate your confidence, Uncle Rafael… but that doesn’t set my mind at ease concerning Miss Franks’ safety. Not after the attack on her last autumn.”

The man sighed. He wore all his years on his face, plus more, actually, and it was clear he was no stranger to this kind of thing.

“Well, like I said, I doubt Derricott will do anything. But his sweet lil’ Linda is known to be a spoiled brat trouble-maker that defies him constantly, so, yeah, I’d keep an eye on her. You can’t uninvite her, that’d look suspicious. But keep her in your sights. She will probably try to do something petty and vengeful, like embarrass Gilda. But I doubt it’d go any further than that. O’course, if you catch her in the act of something… well, that’s a different story, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling. “I understand.”

“I got people looking into it… _Watching_ things. Look. Michaelis, I know you’re cautious and you want to do something about it _now_. Yer proactive, and I get that. But I tell you we can’t move on it unless they move first. I still say he won’t move at all. So just try to be patient.”

I sighed. Patience was one of my strong suits, but not unlike Rafael Fernandez, I didn’t like loose ends, either.

 

+

 

The tiny dressing room we were waiting in was hot and stuffy. Performance always seems so glamorous until you get backstage, and then that fantasy falls apart. You either stick with it because you love it, or the love affair ends right then and there.

It was the evening of her conducting final, and Gilda – and I, as her ‘attendant’ – were ushered in here shortly after Fortunado’s wonderful performance. The young man’s versatile and intelligent style in front of an orchestra was already beginning to show. The piece had been as challenging as we’d all guessed it would be for him, made more so by the players finally being live and in front of him, but he came through it with full marks. None of us had any worries that the scouts in the audience were sure to come calling with offers of an apprenticeship.

Two more students were preparing to go on next, then my Mistress would be up. She was incredibly nervous! I tried to calm her down by stroking her hair and whispering soothing words, but she just wasn’t having it.

Before now, I had the odd occasion to see Gilda perform before large groups, but that was different. Playing the piano was a breeze for her, even in front of an audience – her recital being the only likely exception to this, as that would be the première of her composition.

This was stage fright, pure and simple. She’d said, _It’s one thing to play an instrument, Alex, people are concentrating on the music. But to conduct… people are looking at **you**. How you move, the size of your ass, what you are wearing. I can’t **stand** that!_

I told her that her clothing was exceptional – no lie, after all, _I_ had been the one that bought it for her – and her ‘moves’ were just fine, and the size of her ass was perfect, along with her legs. She blushed, but my words of encouragement did nothing to alleviate her nerves. I had to give her something else to concentrate on before she had a fit, and we only had about twenty minutes.

“Shall we make a deal, Miss?”

“A deal?” She sat in a chair, fidgeted, then stood up again, wringing her hands. “What for? Why _now?”_

“Because you are a nervous wreck, and bargaining with me may take your mind off things.”

She stopped pacing and eyed me carefully.

“What are the stakes?”

I smirked.

“Sex.”

She laughed. “Puh- _lease_ , we do that all the time now!”

It’s true we were having a bit of a honeymoon – just without the church and the marriage and the rings and the commitment. Not even a week had passed since the picnic, and I’d pleasured her with proper, _mutual_ intercourse seventeen additional times in five and a half fabulous days.

Yes, dammit, I was _counting_. It’s an impulse, all right?

I was hurt. “Is it so pedestrian already?” I asked, managing a small pout.

She tilted her head, and looked at me. “Oh…” Gilda put a hand to my cheek and said, “That wasn’t what I meant, Alex. I love everything you do for me. And _to_ me.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” I was worried there, for a moment. “But I am sure Miss has imagined something unique, perhaps even odd… Something that will make being pleasured a reward worthy of your great performance here tonight.”

“That has potential. Okay, I’ll–”

“First… Before you agree, I should tell you _my_ terms if your grade is lower than I expect out of you.”

Gilda crossed her arms, and her cleavage became accentuated in ways that made we wish we had more than twenty minutes.

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“You will be blindfolded. I will tie you up. You will be spanked. And I will claim you in ways that defy gravity.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “All right… but when do we get to the part that I won’t like?”

I tilted my head back, looking down my nose at her, dominantly, like the hungry demon I am.

“Those terms are for a grade of ‘B’, or lower. However, if you _fail_ … I will be much, much harsher.”

She swallowed.

“Fine.” Determined. Resolute. _Perfect._ She was a bit predictable when it came to this kind of manipulation, but the only time she let her guard down like that was with me.

“Your terms, Miss?”

“I wanna love me some Demon.”

Oh… that _bitch_. I hated that. And I should have known…

I sighed, rolling my eyes a bit. “Which parts does Miss wish to play with?”

“The fangs, obviously, but they shouldn’t count because they’re always there anyhow, right?”

“Correct.”

“I’m not going to bargain for the eyes because if you give me anything else, the eyes seem to show up on their own.”

“Miss is too perceptive.”

She grinned. “Miss likes to stare at her butler.”

I smirked, caressing her face. “Go on.”

“I want the tail, the boots and feathers.”

“Now, don’t be greedy. That’s practically everything.”

“Oh? Everything. Really? So your… um…” she closed her eyes as she blushed.

“My _what,_ Mistress?” I teased.

Exasperated, she stammered. “Y-your… _thing._ Your co…”

“My penis? Is that what you are trying _not_ to say? My _cock?”_

“Yes. Your _cock_ ,” she said, blushing fiercely. “If that’s ‘practically everything’, then you’re telling me… _that_ is the same in your demon form as it is in your human form?”

“Not at all.” I smiled, eyes flashing. “Quite different, actually. Your body couldn’t handle my true genitalia.”

“Are you bragging about your size, ‘cause–”

“I didn’t say it was larger. I said it was _quite different.”_ I gave Gilda a heated stare.

She gaped up at me for a moment, looking a bit scared.

_Good._

Swallowing, she reaffirmed her wishes. “Tail, boots and feathers.”

“How about the tongue?”

“Love the tongue, but… been there, done that. Tail, boots and feathers.”

I balked. “While this final is important, it is not _that_ important. I will not give you both the boots and the tail. One or the other.”

“All right… Boots, feathers… and the _pointy ears.”_

“Miss drives a hard bargain.”

“It sucks being owned, doesn’t it?” Her confidence was rising and that was exactly what I had intended. “Besides, you once told me that keeping your ears round was actually kind of painful for you.”

“Yes. It is.”

_Exquisitely so…_

“So that ought to be easy for you, adding in the ears.”

“How about the nails instead?”

“Was I born yesterday, Alex? I get _those_ all the time. I still have little prick marks on my butt from last night. I figure they will pop out on their own as well. You don’t have as much control over them, kind of like your eyes.”

I sighed unpleasantly, and she smirked, knowing she had figured out something else about me that I try to keep hidden. “All right. You have a deal, Mistress.”

She stuck out her hand, smug. Smug and _spoiled_. I wanted to spank her… Well, I could wait to do _that_ tonight as well. I took the hand she offered and shook it.

Gilda jumped when the door to her dressing room was rapped on.

“Five minutes, Miss Franks,” the impolite call was heard through the door.

She swallowed and let go of me, smoothing down her gown, and I put my hand on the doorknob.

“Alex,” she said, stopping me. “Oh god oh god oh _god_ …”

“Now, _now_ … you were all smug and ready only moments ago. What is this?” I asked, using my authoritative voice.

“I was ready to get fucked by a Demon in a pair of totally hot stilettos. I don’t wanna go out there!”

Stage fright, indeed. I shook my head. “Perhaps you need a little incentive.” I closed the gap between us. Putting one hand on the crook of her waist, I slid my other hand up the back of her neck, then I grabbed her by her loose, wavy hair. Tilting her head back just enough, I kissed her thoroughly.

At first she was clutching at my shirtsleeves, then she grew pliant and moaned into my mouth. When I pulled back, I realized that the kiss might have been a mistake. She was so dazed that she forgot all about conducting and grades and Mountain Kings, and reached for the buttons on my shirt, forcing me to scold her.

“Ah-ah-ah, _no,_ Mistress,” I whispered darkly, and the threat in my voice was enough to stop her. I was still clutching the back of her head in my hand by her thick tresses. “Prove to me you can do this, and I _promise_ to hold to my end of the bargain this evening.”

“I wanna holdsomething right _now_ , Alex,” she said, her eyes dark with lust and her voice all soft and dreamy.

Oh, but she was a tempting, _insatiable_ morsel.

Be that as it may, I managed to control my human body, because we’d made yet another deal, and you must understand that there was sacredness to such things. I released her, and straightened her lovely hair, grateful that I thought to style it down with a few decorative clips. Turning her around by her shoulders, I pushed her out of the door and then onstage when they called her name.

In the end, Gilda was awarded a ‘B+’, which made our deal difficult to sort through. Not as stellar as an ‘A’, but more than the designated amount for me to win it cleanly.

So, we bargained, yet again.

I got to spank her, while wearing my boots and nothing else. The eyes, ears, fangs and feathers enhanced her fun, and of course my sharp nails did their job. After I satisfied her, Gilda lay before me on her tummy, smiling, languid and spent. When she told me to go ahead and take a bite, I surprised her with my choice of location, sinking my fangs in at the top of her right cheek. It was close enough to actually be her bottom, which I’d been fantasizing about biting for a long time, but I didn’t make it low enough to cause her discomfort while playing the piano.

With the essence of her soul still on my tongue, I looked down at her body before me. I gazed, fondly, at the puncture wounds and the delicate scratch marks I’d decorated those fabulous cheeks with earlier while she rode me like a jockey on a horse. Remembering how she’d cried out, I hardened involuntarily and quickly brought myself to another roaring climax, ejaculating all over the smooth skin of her back.

What a complete experience! Between the spanking, scratches and bites, it seemed her reward that night was all about her backside. That’d make a nice coffee table book as well…

_‘All About Their Bums’._ The tag line could read: _‘_ A collection of poems and paintings dedicated to the beautiful backsides of Ciel Phantomhive, Loius DeBrena and Gilda Louise Franks.’

Heh.

Later, while lounging in bed with her, she forced me to bring something else out, but only for show-and-tell.

“Let me see it?” she’d begged.

“You are insistent,” I said, and she shrugged. “I do not want to show you.”

“I order you to,” she whispered saucily.

I sighed, shaking my head.

My demon’s penis was somewhat dark in color, almost gray, and there was no foreskin to play with – something I truly hated about it, not that I didn’t hate _everything_ about my penis in this form, because I did. It was also covered with little back dots, in a precise, cactus-like spiral pattern along the sides of my shaft from the base to just below the ridge of the glans. I told her not to touch it, and after sufficiently manipulating it with my own hand, it was fully erect. The black dots were now centered on small bumps, as if swollen.

Gilda’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “It’s not any bigger, but…”

“Yes,” I said, slightly disgusted, agreeing with her. “I am not proud of it. It’s of no use to me when buttling–”

I had no intention of ejaculating in that form. She’d wanted to see the damn thing, so she was going to get an eyeful now. When I shifted slightly, the black dots suddenly popped out as barbs. They were short, about an eighth of an inch long, with a wicked hook on the end. Shiny, black and sharp, their tips glistened with a clear fluid.

“My god, are those… _spikes?”_

“No, Miss. They are barbs,” She pointed a finger, intending to touch–

“Do not,” I said, pulling her hand away.

“Why? Are they poisonous?” When I didn’t answer, she gaped at me. “Oh my god! I was just kidding!”

“Unfortunately, you are somewhat correct. It isn’t poison. Immediately before ejaculation, the barbs extend as you see here, and latch onto the flesh of whatever creature we are nestled in.”

“Are you about to come then?”

“No, Mistress, this is only for show. It is uncomfortable, but I can control it – providing you don’t provoke me any further, my dear.”

“ _No problem,”_ she said, lifting her hands up as if she were being arrested. I chuckled.

“I simply wanted to satisfy your curiosity.” I shifted again so that I could touch myself easily. “Now, observe.”

I rubbed the tip of my erection – barb-free, thank you very much – with the pad of my now-human fingertip. The barbs began to drip, and I found I had to grit my teeth.

“They are excreting an anesthetic fluid so that they do not sting the prey. As I said, when having sex, this happens immediately before we come, so by this time we have usually stopped thrusting. _However…”_ I said, closing my eyes while I enjoyed the exquisite discomfort of my – hopefully – momentary denial. “The barbs are directional, and should the prey panic and move off of us, they will experience great pain, and often, damage.”

“Eugh,” she spat. “Other than hurting something, what is that _for?”_ she asked, sounding shocked.

“Greed, and nothing more. The barbs are like insurance. A threat, if you will, enabling us to remain in the orifice we have entered until we come off. After ejaculating, they retract, and we are able to pull out without hurting or damaging the prey… although I imagine most demons don’t bother waiting.” I sneered at the damn thing. My human cock was _so_ much more fun. “Also, the ejaculate burns, making it even more detrimental for a human recipient. That part is not even pleasant for other demons, but then, some of us like pain,” I paused, muttering, “Most of us are gluttons for it.”

She winced, and shivered. “Man, that is _harsh.”_

“Yes, it is harsh, and bloody useless as well, considering I can’t even get a receptive bunny rabbit pregnant. It is nothing less than mutilation when used on a human. A greedy, vile act, typical of your average demon. We are a sorry lot, Miss. Yet another reason I am insistent that other demons never, _ever_ touch you.”

She blushed. Looking back at my cock, she asked, “Why _are_ you so different, Alex?”

“I have no idea. I feel guilt and shame like any demon, but my standards are higher than average, even from the beginning. I suppose those standards are responsible for tempering my violent nature and refining my tastes.”

“For worthy, delicious souls?” She gave me a cheeky grin.

“Absolutely,” I said, smirking back at her. “You should feel somewhat honored, Miss Gilda. Normally it disgusts me to even share such information with those I have contracted with, let alone allow them to _see_ me like this. Where sex is concerned, I am usually just trying to relieve tension, or I am simply bored.”

She looked up at me then, worried.

“In-between contracts. And certainly not with you, trust me,” I smiled, kissing her briefly. “But no innocent human being should ever have to pay the price for my boredom, so I refuse to be intimate with them using that… _thing_ ,” I said curtly, waving a hand at the barbs.

Not able to look at it anymore, I transformed everything back to _Alexander Michaelis_. I was still as hard as a rock, however.

“The moment of ejaculation feels just as pleasant in either form. That was a thing I learned in my youth…” I said, lowering my voice. “I was rash, and I imparted terror and death upon your kind, eventually growing to despise myself for it. It was a hard-earned lesson… but it also led me to realize that while I was stuck with being what I am, I was also different from my fellow demons, and I had to learn to function on my own. It took me centuries to learn how to transform into an acceptable-looking human, but I was determined. ”

“Acceptable? More like _exceptional_. And no wonder you like your human form so much.”

“No wonder _you_ like my human form so much,” I said, and she giggled. I rolled her onto her back and pressed my body against her side. “Congratulations, Miss,” I whispered, “One final to go, and you will have your certificate.”

“I’m really happy, Alex. Thank you for getting me here.”

“Miss deserves most of the credit. I could not be more proud of you.”

“Um… Your pride is poking into my hip as we speak,” she laughed.

“Shall we do something about that?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, and then she kissed me.

 

+

 

When the second walked in the room they met in, the large tome they usually read together was open, sitting on a marble podium. The pages were turning by themselves, seemingly.

“Who in the bloody hell got that down for you?” The second one nearly bellowed at the first.

“Quiet down. Grell helped me.”

_“You **told** him?!”_

_“Hush,_ for heaven’s sake. We’ll be found out.”

The second one strode up to the first, clearly quite angry at this news.

“How could you be so reckless?”

“Grell would have found out soon enough. I think we’ll need him to pull this off.”

“We have all the help we need,” came the snotty reply.

“No, we don’t. Think about it. He plans to attend her piano recital as her guest. He can alert us, and help with the timing. And what if something goes wrong later? _You_ will be occupied with your task. The undertaker’s hands will be full as well, writing. As for me, I don’t have any hands, so there’s that. Wouldn’t it be better to have one more there? As a powerful foe?”

“Yes, but _Grell Sutcliff?_ He’d never agree to help. He adores her.”

“ _Think_ about this. Since when is getting Grell to _agree_ to help us necessary?”

The second one pondered this for a moment.

“I already told him this was _your_ idea, and that he’d better keep his trap shut or you’d fire him. Rules are rules, after all. And no one appreciates that more than _you_.”

The second one nodded, and adjusted his glasses.

“Agreed.”

“Good. Have you been reading lately?”

The second one sneered the greatest sneer, ever, in the history of all sneers.

“Why on earth would I? It’s nothing but sex anymore – kinky, dirty, filthy sex. He gets her attention, she gets excited, they _copulate_ , then they go back to doing whatever it was before they started, _then_ they do it again some hours later. _Disgusting.”_

“It isn’t all kinky. Sometimes they express themselves in a very loving manner. And you know, back when we first started this little game, it was _you_ calling _me_ the prude. I think that’s entirely inaccurate, don’t you?”

“And _you_ seem far too interested in watching them go at it.” A page turned, and the writing continued to appear on its own. “It’s too bad you never got to experience proper sex before you perished. You might be less of a voyeur.”

“Well, I hate to make you more disgusted than you already are… but if I _had_ experienced proper, decent, non-rape sex, you do realize it would have been with him?”

The second one rolled his grass-green eyes and sighed. Changing the subject, he asked, “How are you turning those pages, then?”

“I create a small breeze. It’s difficult, but I can do it.”

“Hn. Silly.” He turned his back on the book, and began to walk off. “Come get me, _immediately,_ when it’s time to put that back.”

 

+

 

Not all of her practicing was devoted to her recital piece, but in her desire to stay sharp, whatever she played it was always something difficult. One particular afternoon, she was playing Franz Liszt again; categorically, and _secretly_ , her favorite composer.

She claimed to despise the man, mumbling things about his over-use of staccato notes (not true!) and the multitude of complicated tempo changes found throughout just one piece ( _very_ true). She called him rude names on a regular basis.

However, this was all blustering. When I revealed to her that I had not only seen the man perform several times, but I had the occasion to speak with him as well, she bristled. She told me, “You should have smacked him on the back of his head and told him he was going to make life _hell_ for one of your future employers. What a bad butler,” she said, but I knew she was teasing me. She was in fact insanely jealous.

“He’s so fucking _precise!”_ she’d rant.

“And that precision is exactly why you adore him,” I’d counter.

“Well…” she’d mutter, giving in, “All right.”

It’s the ones she rarely spoke of that she truly hated, like her parents. When she _did_ speak about them it was in a quiet and curt manner, no passionate exclamations were ever involved.

So as to her ‘Little Franzie, the Mother Fucker’? Yes, she loved him, and all his various works.

I had the good fortune of walking past the salon with the feather duster in my hands, and _yes_ , she’d bought me a pink one, when I was fortunate to hear the very beginning of Liszt’s most famous of his nineteen Hungarian Rhapsodies, No. 2. It’s been over-used, just like her conducting piece has been, but this is mostly due to some American cartoon that was produced in nineteen forty-six, starring a cat-and-mouse team. Wildly popular, it has been seen from generation to generation since, loathe though I am to think of it. Liszt is either sickened by this, or he is laughing hysterically and hitting ‘play’ over and over and over…

However, it is a brilliant piece no matter how you hear it, and one of Gilda’s favorites to play – even if she does look like she is bitching _Franzie_ out in her head all the way through it.

I leaned on the doorframe, as of yet unnoticed by my little virtuoso, and watched her nearly nine-minute rendition, feeling as though I had been transported back to the mid-eighteen hundreds. When she finished, I paused, waiting for the inevitable curse words to spill out, then I chuckled and gave her a round of much-deserved applause.

“Alex!” she gasped, turning to face me and trying not to laugh.

“ _Bravissima_ , Miss. A splendid rendition, and one that I never tire of.”

“Holy crap,” she muttered, covering her magenta-tinged face with her palms.

“Although… should you ever perform that one on stage, I’d probably go without saying _‘take **that** you crazy fucker’ _ when finished. Not that they’d hear you over the applause.”

“Were you watching me… the _entire_ time?”

“Apologies, Miss. I cannot decide whether it is more enjoyable watching your face when I am pleasuring you, or watching your face as you play that particular piece.”

She turned on her highly polished piano bench, straddled it, and half-gaped, half-smiled at me. Gilda was blushing fiercely. Feeling smug, I stood my ground, still leaning casually against the doorframe of the salon with a seductive smirk all over my face.

“Alexander. I do believe that’s the single greatest compliment anyone has ever paid me, ever, in my entire life.”

“Is that a fact?”

Narrowing my eyes, I stared at her. Dark. Hot. Dangerous. _Wet_. She knew exactly what I was implying with just one look, and Gilda did not even flinch. She placed her hands palms down on the bench and, leaning forward slightly, leveled a heated gaze at me.

“But it’s an important judgment call. You may need more information. Why don’t you come over here and get it?”

I got the information, thank you very much, and I felt quite smug as I watched her panting on the Oriental rug with her shorts and panties bunched tight around her ankles. She looked up at me with wide, somehow still innocent eyes, trying to catch her breath, as I licked my fingers clean and smirked down at her.

When she relaxed again, I leaned over her and spoke.

“Now I am going to carry you upstairs to your bed and put the stones to you properly.” Gilda laughed until she hiccupped. “What is this? You have told me I should experiment more with the vernacular, and I just did. Did I not say it right?”

“Oh, it was perfect,” she said, laughing until she cried.

I picker her up in my arms, and she wasn’t shaking this time… she was pliant and dreamy and she smelled delicious. When we reached her bedroom, I set her down on her bed and finished undressing her, and she was calm enough to do the same to me. I opened the window, letting in a soft breeze and all that glorious sunlight, and we spent rest of that lovely, long afternoon in her bed together; laughing, touching, ramping our passions up then satisfying each other. She’d nap, I’d watch, then she’d wake and we’d do it again. We stopped briefly around six at night, because her tummy was growling and she clearly needed some nourishment. Then we took a bath, and went right back to her bed to resume playing with each other.

What a _delightful_ day.

At one point, she declared in a sleepy voice while stretched out on top of me, “I want you to know that I will never, _ever_ be able to hear that Rhapsody without thinking about this day, ever again.”

“No more cat-and-mouse, then?” I whispered. She giggled.

Having sex with her in uncommon or unusual places was all well and good, but I preferred to take her the way I favored with _all_ humans, regardless of gender: in a nice, big bed with the prey flat on their back. I _am_ a creature of dominance, after all.

Kneeling on the bed, towering above my human playmate… gripping the backs of their thighs with my hands, raising their hips just slightly. My superior strength and staying power as a demon make this a very easy position for me to maintain. It keeps the chosen orifice open and the angle optimal, and it affords me the opportunity to watch them.

Whether I plan to ejaculate or not, just _watching_ is one of my favorite parts of sex.

Bear in mind that this is only after sufficient foreplay! I cannot stress enough the importance of foreplay, and it is everyone’s responsibility, if you please. Most of you either take foreplay for granted, or do not bother with it at all, and then you wonder why your sex lives are not worth thinking about. Silly.

I _love_ pleasuring Gilda in this position, and she rather enjoys the pin-prick sensation when my long, demon nails dig into the flesh of her thighs. This is the position I was trying to use at our fateful picnic, before her heart went and thwarted my plans.

She can be hard to predict when I am not manipulating her. Sometimes _she_ wants to be the dominant one. Sometimes we just keep changing positions until we settle on one that feels good. _Sometimes_ the little minx just needs more affection and intimacy from her loyal butler, and she gets it without a complaint.

But there were other times, more _intense_ times…

The practicing would suddenly cease, and she’d seek me out wherever I was, silently asking for my attention with an impetuous longing on her face. She needed me to touch her, wanted me inside her, and I’d drop the task at hand and accommodate. She’d start shaking from the adrenaline rush before I could even get us into her bed.

Gilda loved me, _desired_ me, pure and simple, and she was unashamed to let it show. As a demon, I couldn’t really respond in kind – I loved her, yes, and wanted her… but I didn’t clutch at her out of desperation. I didn’t tremble with expectancy at feeling desired by another. I didn’t cry when I came off; there were no little deaths for _me_. But it was delightful to experience these things through her.

As we got closer and closer to the day of her recital, however, I had a feeling that Gilda may have been thinking about something else during such ardent moments between us. She knew her time was limited.

+

 

_tbc_

 

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks! 
> 
>  
> 
> To hear a stunning version of the piece that Sebastian is watching Gilda play, in the way I personally think it ought to be played, again go to YouTube and type in:   
> Gyorgy Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 live in Budapest  
> Turn up the volume, and enjoy. Try not think of Tom & Jerry… but, no one’s going to yell at you if you do. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one ++++++++
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> My apologies to those of you who may have been shocked and/or disturbed by certain events in the last chapter. Please remember that I said you could take this as an AU, yes? In my world, Sebastian is a creature that despises his true nature, but he is also unable to stop flirting on the edge of it. That’s what I got out of the anime, anyhow. 
> 
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.

 

 

+

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 13**

 

+

 

 

I was thrilled. The senior party was finally underway!

Gilda, who was gracious enough to not only host the party but pay for it as well, got the ‘thumbs up’ from Dean Manners to invite a few of her friends. Namely, Michael, Evelyn and, yes, _you guessed it,_ Grell Sutcliff.

To my surprise, he brought William T. Spears as his date.

“I am _not_ your _date,”_ Spears had said, practically spitting on his underling, who simply cooed and sighed at the Reaper’s tough demeanor towards him.

That didn’t last long. Fortunado Fernandez, along with his own date, was just one among several homosexual males at the party that night, and they were all young and beautiful. Sutcliff was beside himself, getting drunk and flirting with anything in pants.

I happened to be privy to the fact that Spears is neither homosexual nor bisexual, so at least there was the entertainment of watching him cringe every time he got introduced as Sutcliff’s date, even if the Red Madness left him alone most of the night in favor of more nubile chances at, as he put it, “Ah! _Forbidden love,_ oh, Bassie! Such gorgeous men!”

At one point, there was a small scene in the main hall, where Gilda and I were talking alone for a few moments. Sutcliff came bursting out of the salon as if thrown, followed by an irritated Spears who was reprimanding him harshly.

“Reaper Sutcliff! We’re getting out of here before you do or _say_ something that _I’ll_ regret.”

Both Spears and Sutcliff stopped, staring at us strangely. Spears narrowed his eyes at me, then looked at Gilda for a long time. She grew uncomfortable, I as much as smelled it, and I got between her and Spears immediately. Sutcliff swallowed hard, not sure where this was all headed.

“Mr. Spears. Are you and your date leaving?” It wasn’t really a question. “I’ll get your coats,” I added, very cheerfully. I wanted them gone.

William adjusted his glasses, clearly discomfited that his scythe was not on his person. “You know perfectly well, _Demon_ , that I did not come with a coat.” He looked at Gilda again, now behind me with my sleeves clutched in her hands. “Silly girl,” he muttered disgustedly.

Then he turned on his heel, Sutcliff’s collar in his fist, and they were gone.

We were alone in the hall again. I leaned back, putting a protective arm around Gilda and pulling her against my side.

“It’s all right. They really did leave. I can sense they are gone.”

“What was that all about?”

“William has never liked my kind. Why he was nasty with _you_ , however, I have no idea.”

“He was making me nervous all night, Alex. Every time I turned around he was staring at me. Who the hell is he?”

“Grell’s supervisor. He doesn’t like Grell, and he severely dislikes me.”

“Well, why on earth would Grell bring him _here_ , then?”

“I do not know, Miss. But I have a feeling it wasn’t his idea,” I said quietly.

The party was a great success, for the most part, with only one uncomfortable moment where the Dean almost recognized Uncle Rafael as our chef, ‘Guido’, and we had to press another glass of punch into Manners’ hand to get past it.

I’d made a veritable ton of delicious food, the punch was spiked, and there were impromptu performances by the seniors all evening. Everyone had a great time.

Except for Linda Derricott.

I caught her sneaking upstairs at one point, poking around in Gilda’s room and then my own. She had no idea I’d been following her, and I took great pleasure in scaring the hell out of her when she began rifling through the things on my desk.

“My goodness, Miss Derricott,” I said suddenly, and she shrieked before turning to see who’d caught her snooping. Dropping the papers in her hands, she looked at me and swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you just promise some random boy a ‘blow job’ and get _him_ to steal whatever it is you are looking for? Or have you finally been outed as the cocktease you truly are?”

She sneered at me, shaking slightly. “I don’t answer to a _servant.”_

I chuckled. “I’m assuming you are searching for the alarm code again, as you recently… _hired_ David Taylor to do? Or perhaps you hope to find some sort of legal documentation on my Mistress, Miss Franks?”

She rounded the far end of the desk and headed for the door, with the intention to simply leave. _That_ certainly wasn’t going to happen.

Chivalry to the weaker sex be damned. This girl was partially responsible for harm having come to my Gilda. I grabbed Derricott by her throat and pushed her up against the ornate wood paneling of the wall in my room. I lifted her off of her feet by her throat, just a little, just enough to cause her further panic. Oh, and it also prevented her from screaming and the like. I was having a grand night so far; I didn’t need the headache of some harpy’s cries ruining it for me.

In no hurry, I reached out with my free hand and closed the door to my room quietly, never taking my eyes off of her red face. Linda’s eyes slid to the sides of her sockets, desperately trying to follow my movements. I tilted my head at her while I slid the deadbolt into place slowly, until it clicked. Derricott’s eyes darted back to my face, and she tried to whine, but it came out as a strangled, squeaky breath.

Her hands were scratching at my gloves, trying to get free. I noted that no serious piano player would ever have such long, tacky fingernails.

While Gilda adored the pedicures I gave her, allowing me to paint those charming little toenails all sorts of suggestive shades, her precious hands were given dry manicures only. I kept the nails short, and did not even use clear polish as per her wishes thank you very much. The cuticles were always trimmed. The tendons and muscles of her talented hands and wrists were massaged lovingly, and the skin was kept buttery-soft and supple with appropriately non-greasy moisturizers.

Every day, twice a day, the only exception being when we were fighting in December, and I hadn’t been allowed to touch her for a few weeks. It was one of the first things that had brought us closer together, all the way back in October. _Even_ when she was being a tart, it had still happened… every day, twice a day.

_Oh, my Mistress…_ how I adored taking care of Gilda.

Derricott continued to struggle. _Irritating._ I banged the back of her head against the wall to get her to stop clawing at me. When she finally realized she was not being choked to death, and I was not going to respond to her frantic scraping, either, she stopped fighting, and simply hung in my grip while trying to balance on the balls of her feet.

“Thank you, Miss Derricott, for your cooperation. Now then,” I smiled cheerfully down at her. “Let us get a few things straight. We know about your involvement in David Taylor’s actions here at the manor during Thanksgiving. We know about your father’s involvement with Mr, Bellows’ shady investments. And we all know,” I paused, lifting her body just a bit higher, then letting her back down, “What a horrid little bitch you are.”

She squeaked and her eyes bugged out. I found that rather satisfying. Still, to sweeten the experience, I managed a bit of an erection, and leaned into her slightly, rubbing my distended crotch against the billowy fabric of her over-priced designer dress.

I didn’t think it possible, but her eyes widened even further.

Yes, I _knew_ it. A cocktease _and_ a virgin. What a bore!

“In any case, Miss Derricott, should you, or any of your little friends, or your family, servants, or hired thugs, even so much as breathe incorrectly around my Mistress, I will hunt all of you down and dismember you, starting with the smaller bits, one at a time. When you are left with little more than a torso and head, I will watch as your body attempts to bleed to death, and then I will mercifully end your life by bashing your face in with my foot repeatedly.” I tilted my head at her, pouring on the charm. I was about to let her go, when I added one last truth. “Oh, and I will save you for last, and I will make you watch until then.”

She squeaked again, and her face was a nice match to her nails by that time.

“I’m sorry, Miss Derricott. Was that a ‘yes’?” I gave her a sweet, friendly smile.

She managed a sputtering affirmative, and I lowered her back to the floor. Releasing her throat, I reached out and straightened the bodice of her dress. She gagged trying to get breath back into her body. Stepping back from her, I watched as her color slowly returned to normal.

“Oh, my dear young lady… you look positively _shaken!_ Why don’t you return to the party and have some Rum Punch to soothe your nerves?” I suggested, my eyes twinkling.

Dumbstruck, Derricott could do little more than stare back at me.

“On your way,” I said pleasantly. She gaped at me for another moment before turning and slamming into the door.

“No running in the house, Miss. Where are your manners?”

She fumbled desperately with the deadbolt.

“Do be careful.”

Her shaking hands finally got the door to open.

“You wouldn’t want to break a nail.”

Out the door, down the hall… I followed at a leisurely pace.

“Have a nice night, Miss Derricott,” I offered.

Top of the stairs, racing down in her tacky flats.

“Bye-bye, then.”

I was going to follow her all the way down to the foyer, when I smelled Gilda nearby, and I ducked out of the way to hide at the top of the stairs, smiling down as I watched. I wanted to see how Gilda was going to handle this.

As Derricott struggled to pull her coat from the packed closet, Gilda snuck up behind her.

“Leaving so soon, dairy cow?”

“Very funny.” Linda attempted to be bitchy, but her voice betrayed her fright.

“I thought it was,” Gilda laughed. “You seem upset. Is there anything I can do to make it worse?”

_Oh, Miss! Well played._

“If anyone’s a _cow_ here, bitch, it’s _you.”_

I remained hidden, listening. “You know, it’s funny, this _cow_ gets felt up pretty often, and the person doing it _really_ likes the size of my ass. How about you? Do your one-night-stands tell you how beautiful you are on a regular basis? Or do you even have those?”

Smiling wickedly in the dark, I reminded myself to reward her. Such as, by kissing every inch of her body before bedtime.

Derricott narrowed her eyes at Gilda, and threw in her last weapon: the entitlement card.

“You can pretend you’re as worshipped as you like, either for your talent, or for whatever idiot is stupid enough to fuck you,” she began.

_Excuse me? **Idiot?**_

“Everyone knows where you came from, _Gilda,_ and that’s where you’ll end up, too. Unmarried Aunt, my _ass._ You stole it all from your daddy, and you are bound to lose it just as easily, putting you right back on the street like the penniless whore you really are.”

I could tell by the tone of Gilda’s voice that she was smirking at the wench.

“Ah, but, should anyone find out _how_ I got Norman’s money, they’ll also find out that _your_ daddy shared his money with _my_ daddy in what _your_ daddy knew to be _massively illegal investments!”_ Her voice was downright bubbly. “You’d end up on the streets right next to me, you hack.”

My erection was suddenly back.

“And I for one _know_ that I have what it takes to be a successful prostitute. _You_ and your frigid ass, on the other hand, will end up behind a rest-stop cash register, selling anal lube and chicken salad sandwiches to greasy truck drivers. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“You fucking cu–” Derricott started, taking two steps towards Gilda. She froze, however, when she looked up and saw me suddenly standing in the middle of the staircase, smirking, still as a statue… staring at her like the predator I am.

Gilda had tracked her eyes. She knew I was there. Never taking her eyes off of Derricott, she responded perfectly, saying, “Oh… Did he have a talk with you?”

Derricott stared at me, swallowing hard.

“I’m so sorry,” my Mistress said sweetly, “He can be brutally convincing. Still, you got the message, right?”

Derricott eyed me for a few more minutes, holding her breath, then she bolted for the front door, fumbling pathetically with _that_ lock as well. She got in her car and took off down the drive heading straight for the gate.

I was in the foyer in a flash, locking the front door and then grabbing Gilda’s hand to pull her into the study off of the main hall. I shut the door to any wandering party-goers, and together we watched the closed-circuit screen to the camera at the front gate. When Derricott reached it, she got out of her car and grabbed at the gate’s heavy iron bars, trying to move the bloody great thing with her feeble human body. I let her flail and scream for a few moments, as I poked the screen with my fingertip as though jabbing the bitch’s head.

“Alex,” Gilda scolded, squeezing my hand. “Just get her off the property already.”

The gate opened, the bitch ran back to her car, the car squeaked through, probably getting scratched in the process, and the gate closed.

“That was fun,” Gilda sing-songed as I pulled her into my arms. “You didn’t hurt her _too_ much, did you?”

“Mentally or physically?” She giggled, and the sound reverberated through my body like a refreshing, turbulent guest. “Your speech was quite inspiring, Miss. Although I disagree that you’d be successful as a woman of ill repute.”

“Holy crap. You even make _hooking_ sound polite. But why would I be bad at it?” she asked, leaning into me as I pulled her closer. Gilda looked up at me, eyes shining with lust. Or perhaps love. Probably both.

I kissed her soundly, then said, “Because you are far too intimate when you are having sex. There isn’t a prostitute alive that could function with a personality such as yours.”

She shrugged. “Um… _compliment,_ yes?”

“Of the highest sort, Miss. Now, you should get back to your guests before they become suspicious.”

“Of what? My absence, or the way I’ve been staring at you?”

“Both. That reminds me, you’ve had enough alcohol for tonight. Stay away from the punch, please.”

 

+

 

By the time the last guest left, Gilda was exhausted and still tipsy, and I didn’t care to take her like that. I cleaned her up and forced a glass of water on her, then sat next to her until the bed stopped spinning and she fell asleep.

A massive thunderstorm rolled over the State of New York that night, moving northwest to southeast. The electrical power went out temporarily at the manor about two hours after I put Gilda to bed. I was cleaning up after the party goers up until that time, storing any leftover food away in plastic containers and putting the perishables into the icebox, picking up all the trash and empty glasses, mopping up spills and running the electric sweeper. When the power went out, it did not affect my vision, but it did affect the appliances. I decided to start the dishes in the dark.

The storm became more violent, and there were several lightening strikes near the manor, so it was no surprise to me that Gilda made her way downstairs to find me in the kitchen.

“You’re doing the dishes in the dark,” she said, setting down Ink after carrying him downstairs with her. Another strike of lightening hit. I looked up and listened as a loud clap of thunder followed the flash of light. The poor cat shrieked and disappeared, no doubt running off to find mum and his siblings.

Gilda walked closer and stood next to me, leaning a hip on the edge of the counter.

“I’m doing the dishes. It just happens to be dark,” I teased.

“Power’s gone out. It’s really coming down out there.”

“Yes,” I said, wiping my hands off with a towel. “You’ll get cold, just in that,” I said, nodding at her pajamas which tonight consisted of polka-dotted panties and a skimpy tank top.

“Actually I’m a little warm. So this is nice.”

“Can I get you something, Mistress?”

She shook her head. “Just woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“I can come join you in bed, if you’d like. Maybe that will help.”

“Help me to sleep or help me to stay awake, Alex?”

“Whatever Miss prefers,” I smirked.

She grinned. “I had something else in mind,” she said, pushing off from the counter and coming closer to me.

Gilda pressed into me as I leaned my back against the counter and wrapped my arms around her.

“You wish to be cuddled?”

“Stop talking, Alexander.”

I complied and didn’t respond. Perhaps she’d had a nightmare and was reluctant to speak of it. Maybe the storm had frightened her, although that was unlikely. Maybe she missed me.

As an explanation, I liked the last one the best so far. I didn’t stay with her every night, but if she wanted me to, I could change my routi–”

_Oh._

Gilda began to sink lower, dragging her hands down my shirt until she was kneeling on the floor between my legs. She put one hand to my crotch and pressed, testing my readiness.

Well, I found housework rewarding, but not _that_ much.

Biting her lower lip, Gilda looked up at me knowing full well I could see her smirking in the dark, and began to stroke me.

“Miss, this isn’t at _all_ necessary–”

“This bothers you, doesn’t it?” she asked, removing her hand from my where my cock was beginning to harden under the fabric. She unzipped my trousers.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Is it because I’m being the dominant one?”

“Somewhat, but that’s not…” I couldn’t finish.

“Will you tell me why? Because I’m not going to stop.”

“Miss does not belong on her knees asking the help questions.”

She nodded. Removing my penis from the opening in my boxers, Gilda smiled up at me as she began to stroke in earnest.

“Okay then. I’ll go easy on you, Alex. I’m not going to order you to come in my mouth. But I’m ordering you to _allow_ yourself to come in my mouth. Does that help?”

I was partially erect in her hands. She kissed the side of my hardened sex, from the base to the foreskin, then she pushed the foreskin up and down, very gently, over and over. The glans hardened further until the prepuce stayed put below the ridge. Kissing the head, she slid it into her mouth and circled her tongue around the tip. Not being able to stop, I hissed.

Her mouth was so hot and wet, and as she looked up at me with all that sweet determination on her face, all I could think about was how many times I had seen that ‘o’ and that ‘O’, and _oh_ , how I had wanted to place myself in there from the very, _very_ beginning…

_Fuck._

I gave up. Smiling down at her, I said, “As you wish, Miss. But please, one more thing before you get too far,” I quipped, and she removed her mouth. The air felt cool after all that heat, and the opposing sensation was wonderful.

“What?” she asked, watching me as I reached across the counter. I grabbed a fresh, fluffy dishtowel and folded it over twice. Lightening struck, thunder following it. I waited until it was done before saying, “Put this under your knees before you hurt yourself, if you please.”

She took the offered towel and did as I asked. “So sweet,” she said.

“I try my best.”

Gilda smiled up at me. “You do more than just try, Alex.” She reached up with both hands to my belt buckle, and the side of her soft face brushed against my cock. She undid the buckle and the hooks on my pants, then pulled the trousers and the boxers down together, only as much as she needed. I gasped as the elastic band of the boxers slid over my shaft.

“Sorry,” she whispered, wincing. “Too fast?”

“Not a problem,” I replied.

Smiling, she cupped my testicles and pulled the fabric down further, gently freeing them and exposing me completely.

“There now, that’s better. Got all that fabric out of our way.”

I smiled down at her, and placed a hand on her head.

“Mistress is too kind.”

“Not really.” She paused, looking up at me. “Alex… I love it when you touch my hair, but don’t do that right now, okay?”

“Of course,” I said, immediately removing my hand from her head. “I was not trying to take over, Miss. I’d rather you did as you pleased.”

“I know. And I believe you. But I can’t…” she stopped, swallowing hard.

“Miss?”

“I can’t have you touching my head while I do this. Okay? I just… can’t.”

There was a story I hadn’t heard yet.

I nodded, placing my hands on either side of my hips on the counter’s edge. “I promise you, my hands will not move from where I have placed them until I have your permission to do so.”

“Thank you.”

Gilda returned to her task, gentle and sure. She was not the type to suckle greedily and it became obvious that swallowing me down to the hilt was not something she was comfortable with. But her soft hands, her lips and her tongue – it was an amazing feeling to know that my Young Miss – my precious meal, my _Gilda_ – was on her knees, willingly pleasuring _me_ , one who had no right to expect it.

I almost laughed at the irony – the last time this was done to me, it was in this very room and with a far different creature. Sutcliff had done a very good job, don’t misconstrue me, but what it came down to wasn’t just the act. Her soul made all the difference, and it just couldn’t compare.

I closed my eyes and growled low in my throat, feeling myself harden completely in her mouth. She sighed softly, lightly bobbing her head, taking me in and out. As I looked down to watch her work, lightening struck again, and it set her into sharp relief for a few moments. I had to concentrate not to go off too soon; I wanted this moment to last.

She pulled her mouth away and wrapped one hand around my shaft. It was almost painful, how hard I was.

_All the more enjoyable._

Caressing my testicles, Gilda ducked her head and kissed me at the base on the underside, a very sensitive spot, and I groaned, unable to suppress my shiver.

“Mistress…”

She kissed her way up to the tip again, then rubbed her cheek against the length while looking up at me.

“Good?”

I opened my eyes and looked back down at her. Smiling, I said, “Magnificent,” and my voice shook.

Gilda pulled the fabric of my trousers and boxers down further, so that she could reach around and caress me from my hip to my rump. Her hands were slightly cold as compared to her hot mouth, and the disparity was just lovely.

“You’re close, Alex. You’ll tell me when?”

“Certainly, Mistress.” She smiled.

She took me into her mouth again, hot and wet. Gilda slid that fabulous tongue around my glans over and over, all the while caressing my scrotum, squeezing my behind, stroking the thin skin over my hipbone. It was amazing how her touch took an otherwise common act and made it so much more.

I felt myself beginning to tighten.

“Soon, Miss,” I managed, now shaking with the need to release.

She sighed again, sounding needful as well, and that threatened to put me over the edge. Gilda kept one hand wrapped around the base of my cock to hold me tight, and reached around with her other, fairly digging her short nails into a cheek. She looked up at me again, and there was love in her honest, dark eyes.

That did it. My testicles tightened, and my body shook–

“Now… _now.”_

Gilda stilled, sucking on me hard while squeezing and clutching with her cold little hands.

Lightening struck for a split second as my entire body tensed in that indescribable pre-climax moment. Then useless, wonderful fluid spurt forth from my human penis into her hot mouth. The counter creaked as I gripped it tight in my hands, and I growled out an expletive in a dead language, loud enough that Gilda had heard it over the thunder.

She continued to suckle me until I was bereft of fluid. Then she licked and kissed, cleaning me of anything that had escaped from her wonderful little mouth. Standing up when she was finished, she kissed my mouth, thinking to share what was left… though I couldn’t taste anything but _her_.

“It’s sweet,” she whispered, in-between kisses.

“And you do not care for sweets. I am sorry it does not taste better for you. My scent changes to suit, but my fluid does not seem to.”

“No, it’s good, actually.” Gilda stopped kissing me and hugged me around the waist. “It’s not all sugary. It tastes like fruit. Kinda like blackberries. I like it.”

I wanted to hug her back, but she’d forgotten something.

“Um… You can let go of the counter now, Alex. And I think you broke it.”

“Oh dear,” I said, hearing shards of marble fall to the floor as I lifted my hands. I wrapped one arm around her back and stroked her hair with my free hand.

“Explaining that one to the handy man is going to be fun.”

“We could act it out for him–”

“Absolutely not.”

She giggled, snuggling into me, and I smiled at her in the dark. “You didn’t do that because you are inebriated, did you?”

“I _was_ tipsy. I’m not now, and I did it ‘cause I _wanted_ to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know that.”

I lowered my head to whisper against her ear, “Thank you, my dear. That was unexpected. And most pleasurable.”

“Sure,” she said, turning her head to kiss me again. “There’s more where that came from.”

“Moderation, Miss.”

“If you say so,” she said. We stayed like that for a while, content just to be close.

After a while, she yawned, and I looked up to realize the weather was calming down. “The storm appears to be passing. Do you want me to carry you back to bed?”

She shook her head. “Nah.”

I smiled down at her. “May I zip up my trousers and finish washing the dishes now, or did you want to play some more?”

Gilda reached down and fixed my clothing herself, the sweet little minx. Gently, she put my now-flaccid, sensitive bits back where they belong, dressing me to the left as I prefer – she really _does_ pay attention – never taking her eyes off of mine the entire time. My Mistress slipped out of my arms, caressing my hand. She took a step back and stood before me, smiling. Shaking her head back and forth, Gilda blushed and rolled her eyes at me, slightly embarrassed.

We were no longer touching, and I found I already missed the contact.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Alex.”

 

+

 

We decide to take a quick trip to New York City again, this time to purchase a nice gown for her recital. The performers were required to be in formal wear with _no_ exceptions. After a few minor spats in the limo, she simply told me what she _didn’t_ want to wear, and let me take it from there.

“The last thing I want to think about regarding that night is my _outfit_ , Alex, so, just stay within the guidelines of what I’m comfortable wearing while I play the piano. No high heels. No hip-hugging fishtail-crap. No hem so long that I trip in the damn thing. No long sleeves, no plunging necklines, and no itchy fabric or annoying collars. Otherwise, knock yourself out,”she quipped.

We went to an exclusive shop. The snobby, thirty-something sales clerk kept trying to interfere, handing me several things that _she_ insisted would look better on my Gilda than the ones I’d chosen, until I got testy with her and told her to stay out of it. Then she was further dismayed that I was _in_ the private dressing room with my female employer, and she wasn’t allowed to join us.

“You really pissed her off,” Gilda whispered, standing still for me while I zipped up her first dress.

“I don’t give a damn,” I whispered back. She giggled. “Ah, now, don’t laugh too hard or you’ll pop the seams on this disaster that calls itself clothing,” I said, grimacing at how it looked now that it was on her body. She giggled harder. I removed it quickly, noting that she looked far better in just her lacy black panties.

“Maybe you should just go on like _that,”_ I suggested.

“Well, the lace is fine, but I don’t think they’ll allow topless.”

“What a travesty,” I said, caressing her tummy and kissing her ear.

I got to see _magenta_ in no less than four full-length mirrors.

We tried several more gowns. Some time later, I stood behind her while we gazed at her reflection in the mirrors, wearing the gown that made the final cut.

“Mistress, you look absolutely ravishing.”

She nodded, an expression of disbelief on her face. “I gotta hand it to you, Alex. You’ve got great taste.”

Gilda purchased the dress and the shoes that I preferred, along with an entire back-up ensemble, just in case. _She_ didn’t object to my choices in the least, unlike the sales clerk.

“I guess I can’t tell you what to buy, but that particular dress is meant for a more _mature_ woman,” the clerk said, sniffing haughtily. “With a fuller bust,” she added, under her breath.

“If we pay extra will you shut up?” Gilda blurted, while looking at some fancy crystal hairclips under the glass case of the register. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. She scrawled her name across the credit slip when the woman handed it to her, and never even looked up.

“This place smells bad,” she declared, strolling away. “I’ll be waiting in the limo, Alexander.”

“Very good, Mistress.”

She just got better with each and every day that passed.

Gilda was so taken with the idea of shiny hair clips that we went to a high-end jeweler and found her the perfect pair, made of quality platinum. They were shaped like musical notes, and were encrusted with tiny little rubies.

When we got home, I surprised her with the small ruby necklace that went with her new hairclips. “When did you get this?!”

“While I was at the register. I told the salesman to add it to your purchase and pop it in the bag before you could see it.”

“You sneaky _, adorable_ butler! Oh, Alex… It’s beautiful.”

“Don’t be too impressed, Miss. I bought it with your money.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “That doesn’t matter! You got me a present!”

_Such joy._ It was rare that she allowed me to put things like silk stockings on her, so I relished every chance I got and her recital would be no exception.

The necklace, however, she wore to bed that very night.

 

+

 

Our days went by as such, lovely and warm, cherishing our time together by not thinking about the end of things. We kept our usual bedtime activities; bath, drying off, hair brushing, but now it was frequently capped off with sex, which occasionally resulted in the _little death_ for my Gilda.

It didn’t happen to her every time, and who can say what sort of whimsy actually leads to it… her mood or my attentions, perhaps? Maybe both. It took some time for us to get used to the aftermath – sometimes it was just dizziness and giggling, sometimes she’d grow incredibly drowsy and fall asleep. There were other times – very, very nice times – when she’d just want to keep touching and eventually we’d do it again.

Sometimes, like the one I am about to describe to you, she’d weep.

Once I divined the scent, which was very subtle, I could smell the oxytocin as much as see its results. It was strange, but completely unavoidable, as brain chemicals often are, and I found her behavior very intriguing. I simply stayed with her, saying soothing words or just letting her cling, until she either fell asleep or recovered. Then I kissed her goodnight and tucked her in.

Who was I to judge her in this? Such a thing – this frightening, remarkable, _beautiful_ thing – would never be mine to experience. All I could do was observe, and frankly, be complimented. When I wasn’t monumentally jealous, that is.

Sometimes she’d apologize, as her thoughts would go off on a tangent and convince her that I found her tears silly or annoying. This was never true, but again, those damn chemicals can have an enormous affect on human behavior.

I wasn’t about to scold her for something she had no control over. The only way we could prevent it was to stop having sex.

To use the vernacular: Yeah, _right_.

It was seventeen days before her recital. She came, I came, she wept, I cuddled her, she relaxed, we talked, we kissed, we talked some more, I tucked her in and left. A fabulous night altogether.

Later, from my private room, I heard her gasp around three in the morning.

I was surprised to say the least; she hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night in a very long time, not since I’d returned to her, in fact.

I continued to listen from my room, waiting to hear the familiar pattern of muttering, clothing being pulled off, and her body flopping back down against the bed. I’d go in a few minutes after that and cover my darling Miss back up, so she wouldn’t catch a chill.

But these sounds never came. In fact, after the gasp, I heard Ink’s sympathetic mewing, then nothing for several minutes. Then I heard her sniffling, but it was muffled, like she was trying to keep me from noticing.

_Silly girl._

I chuckled to myself and lit my candelabrum, and went in her room to see what the fuss was about.

Setting the candelabrum down on her nightstand, I sat next to her on the bed, being very quiet. She was on her side, turned away from me, sniffling and not saying a word, but she knew I was there.

Placing a hand on her hip, I inquired, “What is it, Miss Gilda?” When she didn’t answer, I rubbed the curve of her hip in a friendly way, and asked, “Did you have your insect nightmare again?”

She had Ink cuddled against her chest, and despite the tears, he wasn’t budging. In fact he was looking at me like _I_ should just leave.

_Charming little bugger._

She sniffed, and wiped her nose with her fingers.

“Mistress,” I pleaded, pulling a tissue from the box on her nightstand and handing it to her over her shoulder. “I am not upset that you are crying, but I cannot help you unless you tell me _why_.”

She took the tissue, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then gave it back to me, of course, for disposal.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she whispered softly. She cuddled Ink closer, sighing. “I’ll be all right, Alex. Just leave me be, okay?”

Suddenly, I realized what she was hiding. It was the only worry she could possibly have left.

“It wasn’t bugs, was it? You dreamed you were in oblivion again.”

I keep forgetting her perspective, you see. Not so much in that I am hungry and I am going to eat her soul, but that the date was sneaking up on us. I’ve lived for thousands of years; Gilda has only had twenty. Seventeen days means very little to me, but it wasn’t the same thing for her.

“Please, Alex, don’t make me talk about this! I’ll just get upset and then you’ll want to leave me again and I can’t bear the thought–”

“Hush,” I said, flipping her over and taking her in my arms. His hackles raising, Ink grew angry and hissed at me. I narrowed my eyes at him over Gilda’s shoulder, ruby fire flashing.

_You’re very pretty, but she’s **my** human, cat._

Ink jumped off the bed and ran away. Gilda clung to my neck, and continued her rant.

“I can’t possibly know what it will really be like, it was just a stupid dream–”

“ _Miss_. Please, _hush.”_

She hiccupped, and quieted. We stayed like that for some time. I stroked her back soothingly, and she stopped crying. When she finally relaxed, I pulled back so that we could look at one another.

Wiping off her wet face, I said, “All right… now that you are calm, let’s have this out.” She frowned, averting her eyes. “Do you wish to break the contract?”

“No.”

“Are you afraid of dying?”

“No. It’ll happen with or without you.”

“Are you afraid of the _way_ I will take your soul?”

“A little, but… it makes me queasy more than it scares me.”

“Are you afraid of Hell?”

“I am _now_ , yeah.”

“Good. You should be. Are you more afraid of oblivion?”

She glanced at me. Pausing, she finally said, “Only when I am dreaming about it.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. I cannot help you with that one, though.”

“It’s my problem, not yours.”

“That does not make me feel any better.”

She winced, and hugged me again. With my mouth next to her ear, I whispered, “Are you afraid of _me?”_

“Alex,” she cried, “Never, never, never, _never.”_

“All right, it’s all right.” I kissed the cheek that was close to me, over and over. “I promise you, Miss, I am _not_ going to leave you.”

“What a mess,” she sobbed miserably. “I’m scared, but… I love you. And if I hadn’t said yes to the contract, I never would have known you.”

“If anyone has made a bad judgment call, Mistress, it is I.”

She cried on me a bit more, then I left the candles burning and climbed into bed with her. I talked to her until she fell asleep, whispering things like _oblivion is a long way off_ , and _no strong soul has ever gone stark raving mad inside me,_ and _won’t the sky be lovely tomorrow._

Those last two were complete truths. And in some respects, so was the first one.

She slept peacefully the remainder of the night, cuddled against me. The next morning, she was fine, waking and stretching, kissing me sweetly. We went through our routine, and then she tackled the business of a new day.

She wasn’t faking this, either; she didn’t just look and act happy, she _smelled_ it.

I hid it well, but I didn’t feel the same. My stomach hurt.

 

+

 

“Texas.”

“Very good. Yes, _very_ good.” I pointed to another one. “A sheep.”

We were lying on our backs in the meadow where I’d first had ‘real’ sex with her – as she liked to call it – looking up at the passing clouds after a nice picnic lunch.

“I don’t see– _Oh!_ There’s the horns. You mean sheep like a ram, not a lamb.”

“Yes Miss. Your turn.”

“Um… Okay. There’s a turtle.”

“If all you mean is the shell of one, then yes.”

“Jeez, _picky_. Your turn.”

I searched the sky. “That one could be a skull.”

She leaned into my shoulder, following the line of my arm.

“Hmm. Creepy.” We lay still for a bit, patient as the sky changed. “Over there,” she said aloud, “There’s one that looks like a chameleon!”

“It was a turtle five minutes ago.”

“Well, it morphed.”

Very faint, I heard thunder in the distance. I sat up and turned to look at the northwest horizon, with Gilda following my lead.

“Oh my. Those look serious.”

Thunderheads were indeed rolling in. “It’s going to rain,” I sighed. “I’d better take you home, Miss.”

She pouted. “Can’t we stay?”

“You’ll get wet. Maybe even sick, Mistress.”

“But I _won’t._ It’s hot today. I’ll be all right.”

“Why on earth do you want to be outside in a rainsto–”

She cut me off by kissing me quickly and putting a hand on my crotch. “I’ll give you one guess,” she said, then kissed me again. She gave my privates a gentle squeeze through my trousers, and I growled. I hadn’t intended on pleasuring her in the open air when I packed the picnic basket that morning, and the thought of having sex in a thunderstorm certainly never occurred to me… it was dangerous, but I was game if she was!

We stayed on the blanket, undressing each other under a darkening sky, waiting for the storm to drench us. The wind picked up, and began to whip her long hair around, making her look like a goddess as she sat on top of me, greedily taking me in and riding me hard. The rain began to pelt us, and she threw her head back, laughing at the storm and clenching me hard.

She reached out impetuously and grabbed my hand. Turning it, Gilda rubbed our contract marks together until our skin tingled and our heads were spinning. It was very exciting and it felt wonderful, and I would have let it go on, but then lightening struck and I could smell the hail in the air.

Gilda protested hotly when I yanked my hand back and forced her off of me, but she quieted down when more lightening struck, this time closer to the meadow. I stood and picked her up, crushing her slick body against my own. Carrying her in my arms, I made a mad dash for the thick line of trees, and the hail began falling within moments after we were safely under the branches.

I continued to hold her as we watched the storm’s violence increase. Gilda surprised me again, by demanding to be put down. She remained next to me though, her hand wrapped tight around one of my fingers.

_“Wow,”_ she shouted, completely enthralled with the hail and the wind and the thunder, smiling and laughing and taking it all in. “This is awesome!”

_Such a fascinating creature._

I needed to touch her right then, so I pulled her back into my arms, and thankfully she didn’t object. We watched as the storm did its worst, but these sorts of hot-weather tempests usually pass quickly. It let up after about five minutes, then it came to a sudden and complete stop.

Gilda and I took a few steps closer and stood at the edge of the trees, staring at the meadow. It was beautiful. There was an eerie calm to it. Everything was drenched and dripping. The meadow was bathed in that odd gray-green light that you only see after a midday storm, and the grass was littered with bits of melting hail. Steam was rising everywhere you looked.

I glanced up to see that the storm was quickly moving east. Gilda didn’t say a word; she just grabbed my hand and took me back out onto the meadow. She pulled me down with her, and we resumed our games, this time, directly on the grass.

I felt bits of hail underneath me as we tumbled and vied for the top. Eventually I won, pressing her down against the grass until she whined and submitted to my will. Cold, smooth balls of ice stung my knees and the bottoms of my feet while I thrust into her hard and fast, and Gilda hissed as she felt the same icy sensations beneath her back.

When she came for me, I could feel the walls of her sex throbbing so hard against my cock that her orgasm may as well have been my own.

“That was _fantastic_ ,” she breathed.

I lowered myself until I was lying against her, my body still trapped between her legs, kissing her neck and humming my agreement. “You really enjoy being wet, don’t you Miss Gilda?”

“Yes. Very much. Don’t you?”

“Indeed. I enjoy your wetness as much as you do.”

She laughed until she hiccupped.

I knew she liked thrills, but until that day I had no idea what a wild child my Mistress could be.

 

+

 

“Alex!” She called to me from the main hall, sounding excited and pleased. “Alex, where are y– _oh!”_

“Yes, Miss?” I said, teasing. I had snuck up behind her silently.

“Jeez! _Sneaky.”_

“Yes, Miss.” I grinned.

“Here! I just found this in the cabinet!”

She grinned from ear to ear, and handed me one of the scores she had purchased in New York City during our Christmas trip there. It was the meditationfrom Jules Massenet’s opera, _Thais_.

“Do you know this?”

“Very well, actually. Why, Mistress?”

“I forgot I bought it! It’s _such_ a great piece for the violin. I got it ‘cause I wanted to play a duet with you.”

“Ah! That sounds lovely, Miss.” I knew this piece of music backwards and forwards. It had gotten me invited into many a bed over the years.

I retrieved my Stradivarius, and met her in the salon, where she was already practicing her part. Not a difficult accompaniment, but there’s my Gilda. She looked up at me as I stood ready next to her.

“Nice and slow, Demon. Slower than is written, okay?”

“Of course, Miss. As you wish.”

I did slow it down, per her request. She was right about that. It was a haunting, beautiful melody. She played her part perfectly, quiet and not flashy, supporting my part as needed. When we were done, she was sniffling.

“Sorry. _Sorry!”_ She laughed at herself as I set down my violin and handed her a box of tissues, smiling sympathetically.

_This is how it **always** starts. I make them cry with my fabulous playing, I console them, the kissing begins, I get invited up their dress or in their pants, whichever applies, and we copulate. I made sure I came, and enjoyed that part at least, even though they were run-of-the-mill musicians at best and tedious as humans go… stuffy bourgeois pigs-at-heart who had little actual respect for the arts, and too much love for their money._

I suppressed a chuckle. I didn’t really need to get in Gilda’s shorts right then. Lunch was not far off. I’d serve her something delicious and I’d be invited in there shortly after that.

She was speaking, though, and my sordid thoughts about slowly peeling off her clothing stopped, and I came back to the moment.

“–really played it with someone as good as you before, you know? It’s just that piece has always been special to me, and your technique, Alex – _Wow!_ Totally brought me to tears.”

“My Young Miss is a passionate human, and she appreciates a certain aesthetic…” I said quietly. “It makes her soul all the more rich and inviting.”

“I can’t possibly be that cultured. Not _me,”_ she sniffed, brushing at errant tears with the back of her hand. Sitting down next to her on the bench, Imoved her impatient hands out of the way, and wiped at her tears gently.

“Then you have no idea who you really are,” I said, chuckling. “And it is no more a matter of culture than a tiger’s stripes. It was ingrained in you from the moment of your birth.”

She smiled at me, finished crying, and I caressed the side of her cheek.

I glanced at her piano. “Isn’t that your cadenza?” I asked, pointing at the top front panel. Next to the score for the piece by Massenet was her staff paper. The lines were filled with penciled-in musical score, scratched through, erased, re-written, all in her strong, quick hand.

She whispered, “Get behind me,” and I grinned. I sat behind her on the bench as she moved her staff paper to the front, my legs parting wide to accommodate her as she sat between my thighs. As I held her loosely by her waist, Gilda played the entire second movement of her – well, _my_ concerto, the part entitled _Linens,_ and I noted the changes she’d made to the cadenza, trying to follow the messy marks on the staff paper as she played.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s it. What do you think?”

“The alterations are entirely appropriate. You did very well,” I said, kissing her cheek. "Miss, may I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Your concerto… is it the very same composition that you were working on that day I approached you at the café?"

"Well... kind of. I started it then. After our chat that day, you gave me the idea for the butler thing. But I’d let it go until our contract. What can I say, you made an impression, Alexander."

"I cannot tell you how flattered I am to have been the inspiration for an actual concerto."

“Flattery aside, what do you think of it, really?”

“I think…” I started, hugging her, “…that your second movement will forever remind me of the way you clutch my hair in your fingers and whisper my name.”

“Then I guess I wrote it right,” she said quietly, clearing her throat. She put her hands on my arms, and I tightened my hold on her, squeezing for a moment. “Alex…” she whispered, pressing herself against my chest.

We sat quietly for a while, then I said what had been on my mind for a few days.

"I still feel that I am not worthy of such praise. I was simply doing my duty.”

“As one hell of a butler?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think artists dedicate their best work to those that are _less_ than one hell-of-a-whatever? Can you imagine us thinking, _today I’m gonna write a novel about that bank teller, ‘cause he was pretty much okay_.”

“Point taken,” I said humbly.

“If nothing else, you’ll have something permanent to remember me by, right?” She grinned, leaning back to kiss my cheek.

I frowned. “You mean other than your soul?”

Gilda shook her head. "Oh, my. You're feeling regretful again, aren't you?"

"I would be remiss were I to say no. There is the fact that you are still terrified of the fate waiting for you inside me. Do not deny it–” I said quickly, feeling her about to supply a retort. “You _are_ scared. And you know I care about you. As such, your fear disturbs me.”

“Oblivion is still better than Hell. And those are my only choices, right?”

I sighed. The argument was moot. “Leaving all that aside, you are a striking talent, Miss. I have stolen a brilliant future. And for that, yes, I have some regret."

"That's not precisely true, Alex."

"How so?"

"My future's been stolen from me since before I was born."

"Explain."

"Norm stole it before I even popped out of Veronica, and her miserable existence took even more of it. The conservatory’s bills took their fare share away from me, too. Then that guy in the alley? He was the cherry on the cake of doom, stealing whatever was left, because let's face it... I was gonna die that day.

"No future. Stolen. From the very start, and without any help from _you_ , Demon. The way I see it, you _gave_ me a future, even if it wasn't the one that nature had intended. Nature wasn’t so kind, either – _knowing_ I had talent, but being driven nuts 'cause I knew I'd never be able to _get_ anywhere with it? Ugh. That was awful."

See? I was right. Louis DeBrena. Linda Smith. Souls with _no chance_ of living up to their potential because of the circumstances that life put them in. It's tragic, and it isn't fair by any means, but that's the human condition. It makes things easier to understand... but it doesn't make me feel any better about ending Gilda’s life.

"Then you came along. Somebody finally helped me live up to my potential. That's all I ever wanted... for myself, anyway. Oh, and let's not forget the excellent perks… falling in love, nice things, delicious food, and earth-shattering _sex_. Not bad, Alex, not bad at all."

"Such a sweet girl. But what did you mean by ‘for myself’, Miss?" I leaned in, burying my nose in her hair and inhaling. "Did you want things for other people?"

She shifted in my arms, and adjusted her legs on the bench as though she were suddenly uncomfortable.

"Um... This was nice, Alex, you holding me while I played." She turned her face towards my cheek and kissed me softly. "But can we go sit on the couch now?"

"Are you finally finished?"

"Yep! No more practicing today," she said, waving an errant hand at her composition notes. "I want to do something else now. Something _fun."_

"Something like a perk?" I asked, smirking. I got to my feet and gave her a hand up.

"I’m thinking… Skinny dipping!"

 

+

 

“Miss is content?”

She nodded.

“And I have satisfied you?”

“Alex… you don’t have to convince me to sleep alone tonight. I’m tired. I know I need the rest.”

I was sitting on the side of her bed, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach, watching her grow drowsy.

“Yes… Tomorrow is a big day.”

“The last day of your life often is.”

“Providing you pass. If you fail, you won’t be allowed to hold another recital until next Fall.”

Gilda tilted her head against her pillow and gave me a sarcastic grin. “You almost sound like you’d _enjoy_ that outcome,” she said, yawning. I suppressed a response to that, thinking better of it. “Put it from your mind, Demon. I want my certificate, and I’m not gonna throw this.” She placed a hand over my own, stroking my skin and sighing. “You’ve given me everything I asked for, plus a whole lot more.”

“I must admit, there were several moments when I did not think this contract was going to succeed.”

“You mean, like when you left me?”

I paused, searching her face. “Miss is still angry with me.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not. You came back. That’s all that matters.”

“May I ask another question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember that day Dean Manners came to visit?”

She blushed, biting the inside of her cheek. “You mean when we were upstairs in your room and I was practically forcing myself on you?”

“You were only trying to talk me into it. And I capitulated fairly quickly, remember? But, yes. That time.”

“What about it?”

“After the Dean left, we did not resume our little game. In fact, I had to trap you during that picnic, days later.”

She closed her eyes, sighing. “My first little death. Oh, Alex, that was _so_ good. You were smart to have done that.”

“Perhaps. But my jealousy certainly played a part in that plan. It was as though… As though you had forgotten about it. About _me._ ”

“Well, the board expected me to improve my concerto. I wanted to get to work on it as soon as possible because there was only so much time left.”

“Work on it? I’d say you were obsessed.”

“Oh _my._ Are you _still_ jealous, Alexander?” she teased.

“I have always been envious of the time you devote to your music, even though I knew you would not be as good at it if you weren’t so devoted to it. But I am not jealous anymore.”

“All thanks to my clever routine.”

“What routine, Mistress?”

“You may have noticed,” she said, yawning, “that I try to divide my time as equally as possible between sleeping, music… and _you_. That’s pretty much all I need.”

“And you do all three so very well, Miss.”

“Charmer,” she whispered, teasing, and stroked my cheek.

“Artist,” I teased in return. I leaned closer to her, and her hands snaked through my hair before my lips even touched hers. We kissed each other for a long time.

When we kiss in this way, it’s passionate, yes; but truthfully, it isn’t just connected to the act of sex. And it makes me realize just how vulnerable Gilda actually is, at least where I am concerned. There are no barriers left between us. It is too bad things are coming to a close, because now that we are near the end, there is this _unhurried_ attraction between us. Such a relationship usually takes years to foster, and even then, it is quite rare.

I will not soon forget Gilda Franks.

“Your lips are _so_ soft,” I whispered against her mouth.

“Alex…” She hummed an agreement. “Every time you kiss me, I feel like I’m walking on a cloud.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss.”

She paused. “I… I think I liked it the best.”

“Kissing, you mean?” I asked. She nodded at me. “More than the sex?”

She paused, frowning. “Yes, I think so. Oh – that’s not meant to be an insult.”

“No offense taken,” I assured her.

“The sex is spectacular, but there is something special about the way we kiss.”

“Yes. Orgasms are an endgame. So often it’s what leads up to it that makes them memorable. But kissing… well, that’s just in a category by itself. Especially with you.”

I kissed her mouth, then her forehead, and she yawned. “Ask your question,” she managed around her yawn.

“Pardon?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Too much kissing. It’s made you forget.”

“There can never be too much kissing where you are concerned, Mistress. And my question was, why were you so obsessed? Your composition was already done, you were just applying a few tempo changes, and yet you practiced day and night until I finally…”

“Fucked some sense into me?” she offered, smirking.

“ _Language_ , Young Miss. I was so desperate to get you to calm down I almost drugged your food.”

“Hah, really? Looking back, I bet you’re glad you went with the picnic plan instead.” Wicked, wicked little girl. And I didn’t even have to teach her that. After a long pause, she finally said, “I’m okay now. I’m not so obsessed. I’m comfortable with the piece as is, but… To answer your question, it’s going to be the last time.”

“Miss?”

Her jaw practically split with a deep, sleepy yawn. Closing her eyes and giving my arm a tiny squeeze, she whispered, “Tomorrow night is the last time I will play the piano. _Ever_. So… I want it to be perfect.”

 

+

 

_‘the last time…’_

My heart had clenched when she’d said that.

I told her that the best thing she could do for herself now was to get a good night’s sleep. I wished her pleasant dreams and exited her bedroom before she could say another word, while I still had the resolve to stop myself from climbing back into her bed.

I’d buttled for her, as agreed.

I had destroyed her father’s wealth and dissolved his company. She had her revenge.

After her recital, the conservatory would award her a certificate of completion, with honors no doubt. She’d have her hard-won prize. She’d earned it. She _deserves_ it.

The contract would then be finished. She was _my_ hard-won prize and I was going to eat her perfect, talented soul, depriving the world of a virtuoso in the process.

I won’t feel any guilt whatsoever when I do this.

…in a week or so.

Perhaps a month. We’ll see.

 

+

 

On the day of Gilda’s recital final, she woke up earlier than her usual nine-ish, at seven twenty-six a.m.

With a sleepy yawn, she questioned why I was laying behind her since I had tucked her in and left the night before.

I had no answer, save to sidle up behind her, wrapping my arms around her torso.

“You’re not dressed,” she teased. She paused a moment, then said, _“I’m_ not dressed.” Giggling softly she asked, “When did that happen?”

I chuckled, still not giving her an answer. It was already clear that I gave in to my impulses and returned to her bed last night, divesting her of her clothing while she slept; I didn’t need to incriminate myself further with a spoken confession. Resting my lips on the back of her neck, I kissed her.

“Closer,” she whispered.

I pulled her back against my front. Crooking one long leg over her hip, I pushed with my calf until her bottom was resting on my stomach. I had effectively trapped her to me, pressing us together from head to toe, yet she was utterly pliable… soft and warm. Yielding.

_Trusting_.

When I kissed her ear, she stiffened as if to stretch, though I knew better. Trapped though she was in my grip, her back still arched, and the adrenaline began to rise, right alongside her delicious soul.

Ah… so lovely. However, there were other considerations today. She had a schedule to keep, and I had the responsibility to remind her of that.

“Mistress, do you not want to sleep a little more? The recital is not until eight p.m. If you get up this early, you may need coffee to get through it later. A caffeinated beverage that late in the day will make you jittery, and _that_ will not be good.”

“I was planning on taking a nap this afternoon. You know… with you?” I smiled wickedly against her neck, and I didn’t even care if she’d noticed.

Gilda scratched her nose. “Besides… It’s my last day on earth, Alex. I want to make the most of it.”

“Ah… well that explains it all, then,” I teased.

Gilda stilled, then shifted, her intentions to turn in my arms and face me. I released my tight hold on her immediately. When she settled, I pulled her in again, wanting as to keep as much skin contact between us as I could.

“What? What explains what?” she asked, frowning.

I brushed the stray hairs away from her eyes, tucking them behind her ear. Smiling at her beautiful, confused face, I teased, “Is that why you fell in love with me? Are you making the best of a bad situation?”

I felt Gilda stiffen against me, defensively. I held her tightly, all over; my arms around her, my leg still draped over her hip. “It’s all right,” I whispered, “My apologies. I was teasing… and it was inappropriate to do so. You do not have to answer that.”

She whispered in return, “No… no, I think I should.”

When I felt her body relax again, I pulled back from her just a bit, just enough to kiss her. “Take your time,” I whispered, in-between kisses.

Gilda sighed, and we lay quietly together, listening to the clocks ticking and the fledglings outside her window, chirping and begging food from their parents. Finally, she spoke.

“I used to worry it was because of that. Then I kind of thought it might be because you spoil me senseless. But, now… well, the truth is I don’t _know_ why I fell in love with you.”

She raised a hand to my cheek, cold hand caressing me softly.

“Go on, Miss.”

“A good friend of mine… Not Fortune, but a woman in her thirties that I know… she once told me that the heart does what it wants, and you simply can’t stop it. So the way I see it, I could hardly have prevented it, even if you _hadn’t_ been so good to me.”

“Ah… Chemistry?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Well, however it works, that is another major difference between my kind and yours. We don’t fall, but our hearts also do as they please. But… we _can_ make it stop.”

“Is that what you’re doing, then?” She looked at me, searching for something. “Are you stopping yourself?”

I smiled.

“Not at the present time, Miss.”

She kissed me then, and I knew that breakfast and bath time were going to be put off even further. I marveled at the realization that up until her classes were finished, this would have irked the hell out of me. But now, I didn’t give a damn.

Afterwards, spent and boneless, she placed a delicate kiss on my cheek, sighing, and I could hear the happiness in her voice. All too conscious of my human body pressing down on hers, I loosened my arms from around her torso and slowly, _gently_ , pulled my sex from hers. Her cervix had a strong grip on me, more so than usual, and she gasped at the succulent sounds of our bodies separating.

Gilda closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back, and tried not to think about how the sheets were going to be soiled, or that someday soon I would not have sheets to launder. Or anyone to launder them for.

Adjusting my position so that the mattress bore most of my weight, I looked down to see Gilda gazing up at me with a very content expression on her face. “I’m going to miss you, Alexander,” she whispered.

There’s my sweet, delicious prey, bravely readying herself for death and oblivion.

_Won’t **she** be surprised._

 

+

 

“He loves her.”

“He uses her to relieve the demands of his overzealous sexual proclivities.”

“Yes… And he loves her, too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s _demonic_. He _cannot_ love,” the second one said with distaste, revealing an obvious aversion to the idea.

“Yes, he can. Just not like she does. Or the way _I_ would, for that matter, but whether you, or he, can admit it or not, he definitely feels love for her.”

“Nonsense. And in _any_ case,” the second one barreled on, obviously needing to change the subject, “this latest behavior is just more proof that he’s going to try and draw out the contract. That means the time to intervene is at hand. Our comrades are ready. I have given Norman Bellows sufficient motivation, and that human will be more than ready to do my bidding when I approach him tonight after the recital.”

“Her recital.”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s _her_ recital. _Gilda’s_ recital, not ‘the’ recital. And we are using her friendship with Grell, and her father, not some random individual named Norman Bellows, to get what we want. Changing the way you refer to the specifics of our plan isn’t going to magically make it an impersonal act.”

“I am aware of that,” the second one said testily.

“But your use of neutral language suggests you are _not_ taking the responsibility.”

“I will _use language_ any way I please. And stop trying to sound like you have been educated beyond primary school.” The second one glanced in the first one’s direction, and added, “If that demon does love his prey, which I _doubt_ ,” the words were laced with disgust, “then that makes our plan all the more justified.

The first one watched the second one ruefully, thinking long on something before responding.

“Tell yourself whatever you’d like. Things might work out to everyone’s advantage… and they might not. Either way, we’ll have to hurt her in the process. And no matter what you say, nothing will ever justify that.”

+

 

_almost done_

 

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks! 
> 
>  
> 
> Regarding the number that Sebastian and Gilda have their duet with: it is exactly the type of melody that would bring Gilda Franks to tears, and playing it the way he did is exactly the type of thing that Sebastian would do to manipulate her to that point, the little devil. :) Obviously, he has become addicted to her emotions.  
> Very often it is played in that fashion, with just a piano backing it, making it appropriate for the scene I wrote. However, this example features a full orchestra backing a soloist. Go to YouTube and type in the search field:  
> Vengerov Jules Massenet / Thais / Meditation  
> Vengerov is simply brilliant, and he made the wise choice (or perhaps the conductor or arranger did, I can’t really know) to slow this piece down. Wow. So so so good!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

+

 

**Gilded**

**Chapter 14**

 

+

 

 

 

“Miss, it is time to wake up.”

My voice was ever-pleasant as I placed a palm on Gilda’s upper arm and squeezed it gently. She groaned, as she always did after an afternoon nap, but finally, reluctantly, opened those beautiful dark green eyes and looked up at me.

“I was dreaming about bunnies.” She was shy, yawning and stretching in my embrace. “Dark brown ones with long floppy ears and white feet.”

“Lops. Very sweet creatures.” I pushed the hair from her eyes and kissed her. “They make a nice soup in a pinch, as well.”

Gilda said nothing. She simply winced and then smirked, silently acknowledging the fact that she was laying in bed with a demon.

 

+

 

I woke her early enough so that I could take my time and not rush through one single part of our routine. The added benefit, of course, was that the longer I took to get her ready, the more relaxed she was likely to remain.

We chatted easily through her bath and while I dried her abundant hair. Then I had her sit on the bed while we started on the underclothes.

Lovely little boy-short black lace panties were even lovelier on her bath-fresh body. There was no brassiere for this gown, and as usual being topless around me didn’t faze her in the in least.

Next we came to putting the sheer black silk stockings on her strong legs. Toes, ankles, knees, thighs; I kissed each part delicately before sliding the soft silk over her skin, making her giggle softly, then I attached the garter belts. I stood up, looking down and sighing at my handiwork as it lay before me on her comfy bed.

One of her requests when we purchased her ensemble in New York was that she not be wearing anything – gown, shoes or otherwise – that would distract her while playing because of discomfort.

“How are the intimates, Miss? No itching or chafing?”

“They’re perfect, Alex. Feels great, actually.”

“Excellent.” I offered her my empty hands and she placed hers in mine. Pulling her up, I said, “Let’s get started on your hair.”

She sat still in a backless chair while I combed her hair out. I gave the ends a quick trim, same as I did every month. Clad only in her panties and stockings, I noticed Gilda’s nipples had tightened.

“Miss is warm enough?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. A bit chilly is good, actually, because I don’t want to start sweating before the gown.”

“Very good.”

“Alex…?”

“Yes Miss?”

She hesitated before asking, “What will happen to Cat and Ink and the others?”

I stopped sectioning off her hair and looked at her. Getting down to one knee, I put my hand on her thigh and stroked her stocking-covered skin with my thumb.

“Please do not worry. There is no need to think about such things as that right now. I will see to everything. I will not neglect _any_ of my promises to you.” I paused as she looked down at me. “Do you believe me?”

She gave me a small smile. “Yes.” Gilda leaned over and kissed me on my forehead.

How many times had I done that to her over the months? And now here she was, using the same affection to convince me of something.

“Thank you, Miss.”

I gave her an upsweep, of course, utilizing the fancy hair clips. The style would stay put nicely, so as not to get on her nerves while playing, and it would look beautiful with her gown. She smiled at me in the mirror as I put the finishing touches on it, admiring my work.

“Good?”

“It’s beautiful, Alex. Really, I never knew I had such nice hair until you came along.”

“All it needed to blossom was to have some attention paid to it, Miss… just like you.” I whispered this in her ear, and she blushed for me. Her nipples grew tighter, magenta flooded her pretty skin, and I congratulated myself.

I went to get her a nice, cold glass of orange juice while she did her make up. Coming back up, I noticed she remained conservative with her cosmetics and chose to apply them using my every recommendation. _Good girl._

There was also no lipstick. Yet.

“Let’s get you into the gown,” I said, smiling cheerfully. I could barely contain myself; she was going to be the loveliest recitalist there!

She took my hand and we stepped her into the garment.

It was made entirely of black silk. The bodice was a lightweight shantung, sleeveless with a moderately draped, not-too-low v-neck, and slightly fitted. Several buttons down the low back held her in, as opposed to a zipper. Clearly a garment that required assistance getting into. My favorite sort.

The skirt was layered in silk tulle, and I hemmed it to just slightly above her ankles in the front, with a moderate train in the back.

Two-inch patent leather black pumps, very conservative, completed the look. As she stood in front of the full-length mirror, I reached around her neck to put on the finishing touch: her new necklace.

She took a deep breath and tilted her head.

“Well, Miss? What do we think?”

Gilda bit her lip and blushed as she looked herself over in the mirror. She smoothed down the pristine bodice with her palms, feeling the smooth fabric against her flat abdomen. Shaking her head, she smiled at me for a long time before speaking.

“I think you’ve taken a sow’s ear and made it into a–”

“Ah, no _no,”_ I scolded. “No biblical references, if you please. And you have _never_ been a sow’s ear, Mistress. I’d only go so far as to say you were a bit of a slob before I whipped you into shape.”

“So true,” she giggled, tearing up the tiniest bit. “Jesus… I look like an _adult_ ,” she said, voice incredulous. “When did _that_ happen?”

“Silly girl,” I said, coming forward and quickly wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. “You’ve never been a child, or have you not yet realized that?”

She leaned her face into the palm of my hand and closed her eyes. _“Alex…”_

“Do not cry. Your make-up will run,” I whispered. When she opened her eyes I was smirking at her.

“Yes, Alexander.”

I looked her up and down appreciatively. Had she been an ‘available’ girl, suitors would have been lining up outside the front door just to see if they stood a chance with such a talented beauty.

But of course, she was _mine_ , and she always would be.

“Are you ready to go? We are a bit early, but perhaps that is a good thing.”

“Yes,” she nodded at me. She licked her still-naked lips. “I’ll be down in a minute, okay?”

I nodded, knowing what she was about to do, but I politely obeyed the rules of that particular game and did not address it.

“Of course, Miss. Please, take your time. I will just bring the limo around front, and then I will be in the foyer, awaiting you.”

_Forever, if need be._

Keeping my lustful eyes on hers, I bowed at the waist, which was something I rarely did anymore when we were alone. She smiled, and I headed downstairs.

Gilda did take her time, and from the bottom of the stairs, I heard her opening and closing a few drawers before sitting back down at her vanity to apply her lipstick. When done, she rose, but remained in her room for a little while longer before descending the stairs. I heard her sigh. She was probably feeling a little bit of nostalgia or bittersweet sentimentality as she looked over her lovely bedroom, no doubt committing to memory the moments we had shared together; dressing her in front of the mirror, getting to know her in the bathtub… and in her bed.

I remember hoping that her bed would hold my greatest joy, and eventually, it did. It is always nice when a plan works out, yes?

I chuckled at how such a tender-hearted reminiscence was unnecessary. True, my tummy was grumbling, but I still wanted _more_ from Gilda – more sex, more blood, more music… and oh gods, definitely more _love –_ before I decided on an appropriate moment to conclude our contract and consume her.

For the time being, at least, her affections more than made up for my hunger, so she wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

 

+

 

Dean Manners, still so grateful for Gilda’s patronage with the party, was gracious enough to give me the seat next to him in the front row of the concert hall at the conservatory. It was empty for now, as Gilda (and I, her ‘assistant’) were instructed to wait stage left until they announced her name from the stage.

The audience was filled with friends and family of the recitalists, the conservatory staff, as well as talent scouts and a few outside professionals. For Gilda’s part, I was there, as well as Evelyn and Michael. Uncle Rafael was in the audience for “both his kids, Fortune _and_ Gillie”. Gilda also invited Grell Sutcliff, who was oddly subdued when he came backstage to wish her luck as she waited in the ladies’ dressing room. He brought her red roses (of course) and kissed her cheek, before leaving to take his seat next to Uncle Rafael.

“That was weird,” she’d said. “I mean the roses are lovely and I’m glad he’s here, but… It’s like he’s depressed or something.”

“One can never tell with _that_ individual, Mistress,” I said, sneering at the door he’d departed out of.

“Jealous?” she asked, teasing.

“Yes, I am. I want all of your love, not most of it.”

She just smiled and shook her head.

Fortunado Fernandez had already performed his gaucho piece earlier and had done very well, though this final was not as big a part of his grade and he was much more relaxed than my Young Miss. For him, this was just playing a song he’d written on his guitar. When Sutcliff leapt to his feet and shouted _Hurrah you lovely young boy, hurrah_ at the end of Fortune’s piece, Dean Manners looked back, trying to locate the commotion. He just caught Uncle Rafael standing next to Grell, applauding and crying. Another look of recognition passed over the Dean’s face, but much to my relief, he shook his head and let it go.

Linda Derricott’s concerto was, shall we say, contrived at best. No great surprise there. The look on her face was priceless when she bowed at the end and caught me in the front row, clapping unenthusiastically for her lackluster performance. I kept searching the audience for her parents after she left the stage, hoping to see Norman Bellows’ accomplice, but to no avail. I honestly think they were not in attendance.

Now backstage, Gilda and I waited alone for the host to introduce the premiere of her concerto. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, impatient and nervous. Little ringlets of light brown hair fell loose from her upsweep and cascaded down her bare back, springing up and down with her movements. I was momentarily distracted by this lovely sight until she groaned quietly.

Placing a reassuring hand on her back, I rubbed tiny circles between her shoulder blades.

“I have no doubt that you will be the standout performer tonight, Miss.”

She exhaled. I felt her body shaking under my hand.

“You are very tense. I wish I could help.”

Gilda bit her luscious lower lip, then said, “It’s just nerves. I’ll be all right once I sit down and touch the keys. Really.”

“You are more worried about the walk to the piano than you are about _playing_ it?” I teased, chuckling.

She turned her head back to face me and smirked. “Don’t make fun. Why do you think I asked for this number to be hemmed high enough to expose the damn shoes? We can’t all be as graceful as _you_ are, butler.”

“Miss,” I said warmly, “Such a sweet compliment.”

She bit her lip again, and I leaned in closer to give her a soft kiss. My lips ghosted over hers; the last thing I wanted to do was ruin her make-up or get her all worked up before this, her soon-to-be greatest performance.

She shivered again. I removed a cedar heart from where I had been hiding it in a trouser pocket, and held it up between two fingers for her to see. She smiled warmly, and I slipped the smooth, fragrant wood into the neckline of her gown, pushing it in until it was secure in her bodice and close to her own rapidly beating heart. My fingertips intentionally caressed the side of a breast as I slid them out from her gown.

“Do you see, Miss?” I whispered. “I do not lie. I _am_ always with you.” I traced my fingertips up to her neck, then slid my hand behind her ear. “Even while you are playing your concerto.”

Gilda stared hard at my mouth, and I kissed her again, still softly but with a little more conviction. She had stopped trembling, at least, although her heart was beating faster than normal.

I felt the presence of someone on the stairs behind us then, and whoever it was had stopped. I couldn’t concentrate enough on their breathing pattern or their scent to try and recognize them, not while sampling Gilda’s delicious mouth.

But, I was living recklessly these days, and I didn’t care. Whoever it was, they could decide for themselves what they saw and that was that.

“I must go to my seat now, Miss.” Removing my hand from her neck, I checked her over. She looked _so_ lovely. “Play this concerto for me. _Just_ for me.”

She nodded. She still looked frightened, but there was only so much I could do. I squeezed her hand and stepped away from her, moving towards the stairs.

I was not surprised to find Fortunado Fernandez standing on them, as still as a statue.

“Mr. Fernandez,” I said quietly, too quiet for Gilda to hear. “Your gaucho piece was very entertaining. It was exciting, and you played it very well.”

“Thank you…” he said, drifting off, looking towards the stage.

He had seen Gilda and I kissing each other, obviously.

“Speak your mind, if you will sir.”

The boy swallowed, looking back at me.

“I admit that I wasn’t sure, which way you…”

“Swing?” I asked, unable to stop myself from putting him on the spot, if only a little. “As was my Mistress.”

He nodded. “Well. I see,” he said, politely, smiling.

“No, I’m afraid you do not,” I started, reaching out to brush the side of his face with the back of my gloved knuckles for only a moment. “Not everything is as it seems, yes?”

“Yeah,” he said, putting a hand to where I had just touched him. “Okay, yeah. I get it. But Alex… This isn’t acceptable in most circles. Not everyone is going to be as lenient as me.”

“Really? And here I thought America was making great strides in its acceptance of people who are not strictly heterosexual.”

“Not from where I stand they aren’t. But… that wasn’t what I meant. I was talking about you being Gillie’s _butler.”_

“Oh… _yes,”_ I said, surprised. I had forgotten that part. Having tasty, illicit sex with your employer for over a month tends to change your attitude about role definitions on the job.

“Look, I’m all right with it. I’ve had my suspicions about you two since she told me the title of her composition… but you’re a great guy and you care for her. I can tell. Just don’t…” he closed his eyes, looking down at his feet for a moment. _“Don’t hurt her._ She’s been through enough already.”

“I assure you, Mr. Fernandez, I wouldn’t ever…” I paused, briefly, reforming my statement. “The last thing I will ever do to Miss Franks is hurt her.”

There. Not a lie. _Quite_ true, actually.

Fortunado Fernandez nodded again, slowly.

“Good. That makes me happy.”

“Are you on your way up to see her then?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “Just wanted to wish her well.”

“Will you stay with her? She is still nervous and could use _your_ presence in particular right now. I must take my seat.” Pausing, I added, “But please keep this new knowledge to yourself, yes? At least until the recital is over. She would be _very_ embarrassed, and right now is not the time for that.”

“I can do that. Not a problem.”

I put my hand out for a shake. “Thank you, Mr. Fernandez.”

He complied, smiling cheerfully. With that, I turned and headed for my seat next to Dean Manners.

 

+

 

As expected, Gilda stole the night from everyone else. I heard the Dean sigh with satisfaction during the middle of her cadenza, and that was when I knew her marks were going to be quite high.

She got a standing ovation, and when she bowed politely in her gown and straightened back up, there was a bittersweet smile on her lips. Her eyes sought me out, and they stayed on me until she left the stage.

There was a small after party for all the graduates and their guests. Gilda hugged me in public, and I did not care one bit. After shaking the Dean’s hand and receiving kisses and hugs from the Fernandez men, Evelyn and Michael, she sought out Sutcliff, but was disappointed when I confirmed that he had left as I could no longer sense him in the building. I found it odd that he would leave a party with so many pretty, eligible men as well, and that made me wonder.

She drank a bit too much alcohol, but it didn’t matter. Even if I had planned on doing it tonight, I wouldn’t eat her soul if she were inebriated. I like for the prey to be focused. I preferred it when they _knew._

She said her goodbyes to all her friends and instructors, and they sounded a bit too final, to my ears, at least. The party broke up, and with her precious, hard-won certificate in her hand, I escorted my Miss to the limo well after sunset. When we got to the small set of stairs going from the main campus to the parking lot, she hesitated.

“Maybe if I take off the heels…”

“Nonsense,” I said cheerfully, and picked her up in my arms. I took the entire stairwell in one giant leap, and landed softly on the sidewalk below. She wore a cheesy grin, the one that only shows up when I do something death-defying with her in my arms. I continued to carry her to the limo, and she seemed content.

“Here we are, Miss,” I said as I set her down. She sighed heavily, smiling up at me, and smoothed her dress. “Are you ready?”

She grinned at me, but looked confused. “Oh… Yeah, did you want to do it right now?” Gilda closed her eyes and tilted her head back, as though giving me clear access to her neck. I frowned. Did she honestly think I would end her life in a parking lot? How crass.

She was trembling on top of it, adrenaline rushing through her body, making her shake like a pretty little leaf.

“Mistress.” My voice was gentle, and I took one of her hands in mine.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “I’m ready. Go ahead.” Her voice was cracking like a pubescent boy.

I shut my eyes and shook my head, sighing. “No, my dear. I am not going to eat your soul in public place. When the moment comes,” and I refused to elaborate further on what I truly meant by that, “there will be soft lighting and pleasant surroundings, and I will take my time, if you please.”

“But, _Alexander_ … Shouldn’t we just get it over with?” She frowned.

I took her in my arms and kissed her then, because I simply couldn’t wait any longer. She stiffened at first, probably forgetting that I actually needed to wound her before I could drink the elixir that was her soul. When she realized that I wasn’t trying to bite her to death, she relaxed and kissed me back.

“You taste like champagne,” I teased, rubbing my lips against hers.

She giggled. Now that she knew it was not going to happen immediately, she began to tease. “What about the back of the limo? You’ve eaten me lots back there before, and that always went really well. Why break with tradition?”

Gilda, I have decided, would be the death of me.

I had to stop myself from laughing. “Mistress, I do have some pride. And speaking of pride I won’t eat your soul while you are _inebriated_ , either. Right now I just want to get you home.”

I gave her a gentle push and she took my hand. Gathering her skirts, she sat down on the leather seat and smiled up at me.

After shutting her door, I took my own seat and turned the engine over. I adjusted my mirrors and my chauffer’s hat, as per the handbook. Then I turned in my seat to face her. “Ready, Mistress?” I asked, smiling.

“Let’s go,” she said, slightly nervous but very determined.

 

+

 

“Hey, Alex… pull in here,” she said, pointing to the parking lot of a convenience store. “I want a cheeseburger for my last meal,” she said, teasing. “These guys make a great burger.”

The ramshackle restaurant was still open despite there being no other customer’s vehicles in the lot and the late hour, so I did as she asked. I’d have rather taken her home and made her a sandwich myself, but her stomach _was_ growling.

She truly believed her life was going to end when I got her home. I felt any further deception on my part would be bad form, and I needed clear the air. I stopped some distance from the establishment, and put the limo in park.

It was now or never.

Turning to face her through the little window, I found that Gilda was smirking at me and tugging on her hair. _She’s a bit blotto. And she’s flirting. How cute._

“Miss Gilda, I know you are on cloud nine after such a fine performance, and are still giddy from the champagne. But I need for you to be serious for a moment. I have something to discuss with you.”

“All right, all right.” She laughed lightly. Her stomach growled again. “But I’m _super_ starving, so go get the burger first… pretty please? You can talk while I eat, and then you can drive me home and then _you_ can eat _me_. Sound good?”

_She’s referring to her soul, but I’m thinking about her pinker parts. Sounds delectable either way._

Gilda scooted forward on the bench set, until she could curl her hands on the frame of the sliding glass window. She rested her chin on her fingers and looked up at me mischievously, tilting her head.

“Please get me a cheeseburger? Pretty please?”

_So very fetching._

I placed a palm on her cheek, feeling the flush in her blood from the champagne. She was trembling still, as well.

“You are shaking, my dear.”

“I’m still nervous.”

“You have nothing to fear,” I said, “Literally.”

Gilda looked at me for a moment, then her eyes grew very wide and she grinned.

“Oh my _gawd!_ You’re gonna _wait_ , aren’t you?” I closed my eyes and exhaled. _Must she **always** figure out what I’m trying to say to her before I say it?_

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea, Alex?”

“Mistress, It disturbs me that you are in such a rush to end your existence here on earth.”

“Oh, I’m not, really,” she sing-songed. “But you’re famished, remember? It’ll just give me a chance to do as much for you as you’ve done for me. ‘Sides,” she started, sighing softly. “I’ve had a really good run these past nine months. It was shit for twenty years before you came along, but… Yeah. You made up for all that. Very exciting.”

“Be that as it may… Now that you have ascertained my plan, we will discuss this when I get you home. Preferably while you are naked and lying underneath me in bed.” Gilda giggled, and when I leaned in to give her a kiss, lightening struck, interrupting us. She squeaked at the sudden, violent sound, and I looked up.

“Good Lord, It’s begun to rain, _again_.” Looking out the window, I saw the trees were swaying in a slight wind.

Gilda shrugged. “Upstate New York, Alex. We get lotsa thunderstorms this time of year.” Her eyes were glassy as she smiled at me.

“You’re simply adorable when you are tipsy, Miss.” She giggled again, and I managed a peck on her forehead. “Stay in the limo. I will get your silly sandwich.”

No sooner had I turned and opened the driver’s door when I heard gunshot. Two slugs slammed into the door near my hand. I gaped, then shut the door, and scrambled into the back seat, covering Gilda with my body.

“Oh my god–”

More shots were heard, and bullets ricocheted off the roof of the limo.

“Are you kidding me? We’re being _shot_ at?!”

I growled, angry that we were stuck like this. I could take several hits and not die. The limo was bullet proof, but there was only so much it could take. It was Gilda that had to be protected.

“Stay down, please, Miss,” I said quietly, trying not to alarm her as I moved to get up.

_“Don’t leave!”_

“We are as sitting ducks. The glass and panels are bullet proof, but this vehicle cannot withstand a hail of ammo. I will not sit idle and wait for whoever it is to shoot their way to you.”

“But–”

More bullets, these hit the back window and trunk.

“Do _not_ leave the vehicle, Mistress. Please, do as I ask. Get _down_ and stay put.”

She looked terrified. She _should_ be.

Gilda nodded and pressed herself to the floor of the limo in front of the bench seat.

“Very good, Miss,” I whispered to her. “No matter what you hear, do not leave the limousine.”

I crawled over her as quickly as I could, and got ready to exit through the driver’s door. It was pouring rain now. When I heard two more shots hit the back right tire, I opened the door and slid out.

I just managed to shut the door when it hit me.

No, not a bullet, but a large trash receptacle. It happened in mere seconds. It was moving unnaturally fast, probably because it was being pushed by none other than Grell Sutcliff. I was pinned to the side of the disgusting box, and my ribs were crushed when he slammed it into the wall of the restaurant with me in the middle. I’d heal quickly enough and rip his head off later – it was that damn gunman I was more concerned about.

“And Grell Sutcliff pushed harder, breaking more of the demon’s bones and puncturing his vital organs.”

The voice was familiar. I was just about to ask where the Undertaker was hiding when Sutcliff followed suit on what the maniac had said, and I felt broken ribs poke into my lungs and stomach. I spit up blood, but managed to grunt at him.

“Sutcliff, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Bassie!” he cried, loud and miserable like a baby. “I can’t help it! He’s my _manager!”_

“Reaper Sutcliff, do press harder. We need to get a move on.”

William T. Spears. I should have known.

Spears was standing next to the Undertaker, holding an umbrella over the maniac as he gleefully wrote in a cinematic record – Gilda’s I presumed – with that damn pink bookmark holding his place.

A sense of doom came over me. _Disgusting, interfering, holier-than-thou bastards…_

“Gilda Franks, now desperately afraid, decides to leave the vehicle…”

_“No,”_ I spat, terrified. They were trying to get her shot.

But _why?_

My black heart sank as the door to the Limo opened, and my Mistress came out, staying low on her feet. Sutcliff pushed harder against the receptacle, breaking my body even further. He winced, whispering, “I’m just following orders, Sebas-chan… Don’t hate me. It’ll be all right.”

“Alex? Alex! Where are you?!” I watched as Gilda put a hand above her forehead, trying to stop the rain from hitting her in the eyes.

The undertaker switched the Death Bookmark to another record, and spoke aloud as he wrote, “Norman Bellows sees his daughter, and steps forward to confront her.”

_Oh, gods… No._

I growled, blood in my mouth, pushing back against the trash bin.

“Grell Sutcliff! Pay attention!” Spears chastised, nodding at me. Sutcliff had been watching Gilda with a forlorn look on his face, but when Spears yelled at him, he looked back at me. He gasped, and rammed the receptacle into my ribs again. Whatever had healed in me, he broke it again, and then some.

The Undertaker giggled. He removed the bookmark from what I assumed was Bellows’ record, and shut both books, eager to watch how this played out.

An arc of light against wet metal appeared about twenty feet in front of Gilda. She jumped as she recognized her father, and panicked when she saw the gun in his hand. Clumsy in her layered skirt and dripping with rain, she twisted her ankle when she turned to get away, and fell to the pavement.

Bellows stepped closer to her, looking insane with rage. When Gilda turned to face him, he fired off one shot, right into her belly.

Gilda screamed, then fell over onto her side.

“Norman Bellows,” Spears said, and Gilda’s father looked at him like a brainless robot. The Reaper nodded. “You are done here. Leave. Now.”

With that, Bellows disappeared.

Spears adjusted his glasses, and walked up to Gilda’s body.

“I know you…” Gilda managed, staring up at Spears.

“Indeed you do,” he said, crouching to look at her. Disgusted that he was that close to my Mistress, I strained with everything I had to get free.

Gilda’s body jerked suddenly, and she arched like she was experiencing a fit. I felt my blood boil, and I promised myself that someday, somehow, I’d kill William T. Spears. Right after I killed Gilda’s father.

Spears tilted his head at her twisted form. When she stopped seizing, she lay on her back, looking up at him. mouthing something. Spears nodded, then rose, and walked past Sutcliff like he was taking a stroll through a city park. “You can let the demon go, now, Reaper Sutcliff,” he said casually.

“A–Are you sure, Will? He looks awfully mad…” Sutcliff sounded like he was about to cry.

He should be crying. I was finally going to make him into a girl. The permanent way.

“Let him _go_ , Grell. Honestly.”

The receptacle eased away from me, and my body fell to the ground. The pain was intense, but only momentary, as I felt ribs finally knitting back together and organs healing. I got to my knees, then stood. Using the side of the receptacle as support, I looked up to glare at Sutcliff, who decided to run and hide behind Spears.

I wanted very much to kill the three of them, but if Gilda was dying, I needed to conclude our business together… whether I wanted to or not.

Still healing, I staggered back to her. Getting down on my knees, I took her in my arms.

“ _Butler,”_ Gilda said, sounding disgusted. She grunted as she clutched at my sodden jacket with cold, thin fingers. She looked up at me, and her face was very angry.

“I am so sorry, Miss. So very sorry,” I said, and my voice sounded miserable.

“Shut up, you fool. I only have so long. Now, _eat,_ dammit!” She grunted again, and the most adorable, stubborn, _familiar_ expression filled her lovely face. “Eat, Sebastian! _Now!”_

My eyes widened as I finally realized what they had done.

“…Master…?”

It was Gilda’s face. Gilda’s body. It was Gilda’s pretty voice, but with Ciel’s uppercrust English accent. Frantic, I ripped away the bodice of her gown to reveal– yes, her mark was still there. I saw _Gilda’s_ contract mark, but this was _Ciel’s_ soul.

It was _Ciel Phantomhive_ that was speaking to me now.

“What is this? _Master?_ How is this possible?”

“Pa… _Pawn,”_ he finally blurted out. _“Used_ her.”

Gilda – _Ciel_ – cried out in pain. I pressed a hand to her – _his_ abdomen, over the bullet wound. Suddenly, a cinematic record began to rise up from the body that I held, and I honestly had no idea as to whose it was, Gilda’s or Ciel’s.

Ciel pushed my hand out of the way, and clenched his teeth, hissing. The record stalled in its rise, and fought with his will, but he was doing it. He began to rewind the cursed film back into Gilda’s dying body.

_He’s done that before…_

“Hurry _up_ , boy,” Spears said, scolding.

I glared up at Spears for a moment.

“Sebastian… _idiot,”_ Ciel cried, “No time. _Hurry.”_

I frowned. Taking the back of Gilda’s neck in my palm, I put a hand to her face and forced Ciel’s soul to focus on me.

“Is this what you want? Are you _sure_ you want this?”

_And where is my poor Mistress?_

He cried out again, and it was like a knife through my black heart. I’ve seen many humans die of bullet wounds over the years; slugs in the gut were slow, and particularly painful.

_“Hurry!”_ he shrieked, and it was all that I could take. I had no idea what this would mean for Gilda, but I couldn’t bear losing Ciel twice.

I lifted Gilda’s body, lowering my mouth to hers… and drank.

My tongue tasted the tiniest fluttering of Ciel’s soul, and then he practically swam down my throat. He was so eager to embrace the soothing black within, I almost felt like I was choking. Gilda’s hand slackened and fell away from my jacket. I ignored this, and the nagging questions of what had happened to _her_. I swallowed deep, taking in all of Ciel as quickly as he needed me to. I suckled until there was nothing left for this world to recognize as Ciel Phantomhive.

It was all inside of _me_.

My poor master – all at once, I knew. I knew of the long, lonely years spent incorporeal, miserable and confused. Unhappy years that had stretched out between the last moment I saw him and now. I knew he had waited. I knew he had planned.

I had loved him, and lost him… but he was finally at rest. Safe within the cocoon I provided, he would never know torture again.

It felt _glorious_. You cannot know – as a human you _cannot possibly know_ – what it feels like to satiate a centuries-old hunger. I could feel the nourishment of Ciel’s rich soul already filling the hollow cracks inside me that had widened over the long years. I wouldn’t feel the need to eat for a very long time to come after today.

I heaved a happy sigh, turning my face to the raining heavens, scoffing quietly at paradise, forever denied to one such as me. For a moment – just for a few brief, beautiful seconds – I felt nothing but _satisfaction_.

I’d have stayed in that happy state much longer, but there were voices coming into focus. Spears was yelling at Sutcliff to stop his wailing. The undertaker was giggling and chattering to himself about _promises_ and _betrayals_ as he perused the pages of Gilda’s record like a dirty little voyeur. I wanted to eviscerate the lot of them. Spears stopped yelling at Sutcliff and looked down at the body in my arms. He sighed impatiently.

“You are too late. I do not know where you’ve sent Gilda Franks’ soul, but I have already consumed the boy’s.”

“Oh…? Did you think I was here to collect Ciel Phantomhive? _Fool._ He’s been dead for over one hundred years. Take another look, Demon.”

I was about to tell him to shut up, when I heard the one thing that could have stopped me: Gilda.

She moaned quietly, and her eyes opened like little slits. I gasped, as I thought her dead–

Gilda inhaled a sharp breath, only to cry out in agony at the bullet in her bowels. She clamped a hand to her gut, the skin bare and slick with rain. I looked down at her stomach, and shock registered through me.

The contract mark was nowhere to be seen. I turned my hand over and checked it as well, and I saw nothing except clear, pale skin. It was _Gilda,_ and she was dying, like any mortally wounded human. Ciel had stolen our contract as surely as he had borrowed her body.

She was free.

Free, yes; to die and be tossed into Hell. The option of taking her soul into me was gone, but the fact that she had contracted with me was still a barrier, and there simply wasn’t enough time left for her to repent for that crime. That sort of thing took _years_.

I shushed her involuntarily, hopelessly trying to press against the flow of blood with my hands. Even if we contracted, I could not cure this wound. I had to find a way to get her to a hospital before she perished.

“Alex… Why haven’t you–” she asked, pain suddenly tearing at her pretty voice. All I could manage to do was to shake my head at her. Then, her eyes shifted like they were out of focus, and tragically, her cinematic record began to flow from her body.

“No! _Mistress!”_

Her time had come. I felt that unfamiliar feeling that I hate the most: panic.

“Finally,” I heard William mutter with disgust as he stepped closer.

Grell Sutcliff sank to his knees on the wet pavement of the parking lot, wailing like a six-year-old girl – _My poor dear girlfriend, I shall miss my Gillie!_ – Reaper rules making him unable to interfere with his superior’s actions.

_“Why did you do this?”_ I yelled at Spears.

“Simple. Her soul is very rare.”

“So you _killed_ her for it?” I growled, baring my fangs.

Spears continued blithely. “Why ever are you so upset? _Filthy_ demon. Before now, _you_ were prepared to do just exactly that.”

Prepared?

_No_ , in fact. I _wasn’t._

I looked down at Gilda. I gripped her body tighter, but to no avail, her record poured forth. She whispered my name and was trying to focus on me, but it was clear she was fading fast. I hoped she was going into shock. At least it would diminish her pain.

She mouthed something, and I put my ear to her lips. I heard but one word:

“Lipstick.”

I reversed our positions, putting my lips to her ear. Quickly, before it was too late, I whispered something I promised myself I’d never, ever say to her.

_“I kept them **all** , Gilda.”_

Pulling back, I stroked the side of her face, hating how cold it felt in the wet rain. She gave me a weak smile, and I forced myself to smile back at her, sweetly, eyes twinkling, cheerful – _Oh, my sweet, talented Mistress, my little morsel of a girl, now **you** are the one that got away…_

_This_ was the filthy hair in my delicious soup. It was so good, and so _wrong_. In a sudden and unexpected upset, I had finally won Ciel Phantomhive’s soul. Even if it was through interference in my contract with Gilda, I’d _still_ won it. It was something I’d mourned for more than a century.

I should feel triumphant, yes? Positively overjoyed.

And yet, looking down at Gilda… knowing she was about to leave me, to be punished in a way that she certainly did not deserve – it put a chill on my victory. After all, the only salve to the pain of losing Ciel, Earl of Phantomhive had been the discovery of Gilda Louise Franks.

I wanted them both, you see. And I could only have the one.

As I sat with Gilda’s precious, dimming life in my hands, I was stunned into silence. William took hold of his Death Scythe and snipped clean through her cinematic record, separating it from her body. Her record flew up into the sky, wildly darting about, looking for a place to perch. Here Spears paused, looking up and letting the cold rain wash across his handsome features. The light from Gilda’s record played across the flat plane of his Reaper lenses as it danced through the dark sky.

With that, Spears leapt into the air, forcibly gathering Gilda’s struggling record into his garden shears. Quickly, I looked down at her, and she squeezed the hand I was pressing over her wound. She gasped just once, a desperate look on her face, and I heard her heart come to a stop in her chest.

She was gone.

And then so was William T. Spears. The Undertaker giggled perversely and followed him.

The rain had soaked through my chauffer’s uniform, making it uncomfortable and tight. All I could hear was the restaurant’s gutters dripping, and Grell Sutcliff wailing in the background over his lost shopping partner. I glanced over to the side of Gilda’s naked torso. The bodice of her gown lay in ruins on the pavement, and I saw the small cedar heart of earlier nestled in the ripped silk. I closed my eyes.

Gilda’s body was a corpse. Her soul was about to face judgment, and… Ciel was within me. My belly was finally full. But like a man on death row, it is very difficult to enjoy the best meal you have ever eaten when your surroundings are borne of your own personal nightmares.

 

+

 

It was a bittersweet ending to a rare contract. Or… _contracts_ , perhaps I should say.

Not everyone is horrified at the thought of oblivion; some find Hell far more threatening. But Gilda found oblivion detestable, and in the end that was one of the many things that put me off from devouring her. I couldn’t stand the thought of doing that to one I held so dear – at least, not until she’d enjoyed her life a bit longer. She’d had so very little of that, you see. My intentions were to simply to steal more time with her, then eat her later in her life. It was the best of both worlds – I could go on loving her in my own way for many more years, and then consume her, as I could never allow one so delicate to flounder in Hell.

She may have been terrified of the nothingness within me, but it was certainly a better choice than Hell. She just wasn’t completely convinced of this before her untimely demise.

I imagine she knows it now.

And that, in fact, was the most significant difference between Ciel and Gilda. Hell had been his worst nightmare, as it proved to be when we actually got there. But he’d told me that he thought he may have found some peace in the black of nothing, and that was why he was never frightened of fulfilling our contract. My goal had become to prove that same thing to Gilda.

Ciel had eventually found his own way out of Hell. I only hoped that oblivion would indeed bring him the peace he so desired.

As for Gilda… I was at a loss. _Again_.

 

+

 

As it was after Ciel had ‘died’, there was work yet to be done for Gilda Franks.

I still had to finish my end of the bargain with Gilda. The contract had been broken, it is true, but I am… I _was_ one hell of a butler. As such, I would not abandon my oath to her. I was despondent as I did so, but I admit that the glow of my recent meal was a viable cure. As the days passed, I finally began to relish Ciel, happy to feel him at peace, and confident that my feast was going to last a very, _very_ long time.

Gilda’s body was cremated. The funeral was quick and private. The mysterious Nancy Sorenson showed up, with a young son in tow. Also attending were Sutcliff, the Fernandez men, Michael Jacobs and Evelyn Shapiro. The fake cook, fake gardener and fake maid had been generously paid months ago for their dirty work, but they all shed honest tears at the service.

The flowers were _exquisite._

Having never been allowed to read it before, I found Gilda’s last will and testament to be an extraordinary work of charity. Such things normally disgust me, but the little bitch had pulled one over on me in the process, and I had to respect that.

I am getting ahead of myself. First I should tell you how I _found_ her will.

When I returned to the manor the night of her death to begin cleaning up the loose ends of our contract, I found her very last lipstick blot. Underneath it was a sealed letter, addressed to me.

 

_‘My dearest Alex’,_ it began, tearing at my black heart with just three simple words.

 

_If you are reading this, it is because I am now gone. I hope that I proved to be as delicious and satisfying a meal as you thought I would be._

_I wanted to thank you for contracting with me. You helped me achieve my one personal goal in life, to complete my studies. Whatever happens after, however much we may hate parting, you completely deserve your payment. You were a perfect butler in every way. You were… especially attentive._

_How did I refer to it the first time we met? The ‘extras’? I know you claimed that it was all for your own gain, and that it would make my soul all the tastier if I was kept as happy as possible until the end, but…_

_My God. Did they send you to sex school or something?! ‘How to Boink Humans Properly 101’? I think maybe I know why your fellow demons hate you so much; you must have set the curve in that class._

_All crassness aside, I came to love it when you touched me no matter what the reason. I’m sure you could tell. After all the crap I had been through, I didn’t think I had it in me to want that kind of affection from another person anymore. I figured I had to be that way in order to survive. _

_You changed all that, Alex. I apologize if my clinginess got on your nerves –_

 

– no no no it didn’t it didn’t it _didn’t –_

 

_– but it was like a floodgate had opened up and I got addicted to it – to you – real fast. In that sense, you kind of saved me. I don’t have any other words for it._

 

After a slight blush, I almost began to choke up. Almost, for you see, I do not do that.

 

_As to the rest of our contract, I am sure you won’t be surprised to learn that the revenge part was for the benefit of persons other than myself._

_Though I have ordered you not to do so in the past, I now order you to go and open the lid to the bench of the piano you gave me. No, there is not a secret unfinished symphony or two of mine in there waiting to be published. I’m pretty sure that’s what you were suspicious of, so I am sorry to disappoint. But, you will soon see why I had to order you not to look._

_There you will find a bit of money – cash, actually, that has been separated from the funds in my bank accounts. Do not be too hard on our Mr. Jacobs. He had his own orders from me, to launder it. He was not permitted to tell you that he gave it to me._

 

A _bit_ of money? I went to the salon and discovered that she had been, literally, sitting on one million, seven hundred and thirty thousand dollars in folding money for months. In fact, it had been laundered so well, I never even smelled it there.

That was a wee joke. Sorry.

 

_I knew that if you were aware I was hoarding it, you’d become suspicious. The truth was I could see that you were beginning to regret our contract coming to an end and were going to put off consuming me. But a deal is a deal, and I had other incentives. Yes, it was very cool seeing my fuck of a father slowly lose his wealth, but that’s just revenge. I hate to tell you Alex, but for a person like me, revenge is a shallow reward._

_But, it was also the catalyst you needed to contract with me, so I went ahead and made you think it was the main reason. Sorry for the deception. I am sure you kept some zingers from me as well._

 

Like being _gleeful_ about the fact that she had been attacked and beaten to what would have been her death? Yes. That had been a monumental secret on my part.

 

_I had, in fact, fantasized about you returning to me for some time before you actually did. I fantasized about other stuff regarding you as well, but I don’t think I need to clarify._

_I had three years to figure out what I would do with your offer. I knew you needed to hear the word ‘revenge’ to form a contract, so I worked it into my plans._

_All this time you’ve been wondering what those mysterious phone calls to Nancy Sorenson were about. I ordered you not to investigate, that it was my private business._

_The truth is, I wanted my father’s money for something else. That being Nancy and her son Neil, also known as my half-brother._

_Surprise!_

_Let me be clear on this, Demon: I order you to make sure Nancy gets this cash. Put it in my hideous canvas bag and give it to her. Make sure Neil gets a new, top of the line cello. And make sure he gets expensive, private tutoring on the damn thing. _

 

So now you know, Neil Sorenson was Nancy’s son with Norman Bellows. _I_ now know that he was also Gilda’s ‘living proof’ that her musical talent did indeed come from her father’s bloodline; it turns out that Neil is a mean cellist.

Like Gilda before I came into her life, Nancy and her son had been living just below the poverty level – the sad result of Gilda’s father leaving yet another pregnant woman for the good of his career. Norman Franks had left a wake of disasters behind him on his way to wealth, and in my opinion, he’d gotten the bloody, painful end that he deserved– Oh! I get ahead of myself again. Heh.

This being the ‘digital age’, I could not simply hand Miss Sorenson a huge sum of greenbacks. Gilda had been naïve about that. But Michael and Evelyn took care of the details. After the funeral, I gave Nancy that wretched canvas bag, and here I learned that it had been hers as a girl, and she gave it to Gilda when she started her education at the conservatory, thinking it would come in handy.

That’s what all the fuss had been about. She could have just _told_ me.

Now that I think about it, I still would have ridiculed her for it.

When I handed Nancy the papers to her new bank accounts along with a vague explanation, the woman had the good sense not to ask too many questions, but she did cry. When little Neil asked his mother what was wrong, she told him that his sister had just saved their lives.

 

_If you fail in doing this, I will give you the worst, longest case of indigestion you have ever had in your immortal existence._

 

I laughed. If any of my meals could figure out how to do _that_ to me, it would have been Gilda.

 

_In any case, I have to say goodbye to you now. I want you to know how difficult that is going to be for me. You warned me not to fall in love with you, that you could not return those feelings. Alex, I told you I would be okay with that. Why didn’t you believe me? My heart didn’t break, because I know you came to love me the only way you are capable._

_Don’t be upset that you eventually did to me what demons do._

_Thanks, Alex. Or whatever your name is. ;)_

 

Written vernacular. That’s a wink, correct? My little minx.

 

_You were the best time of my life._

_Gilda_

 

+

 

Gilda’s clothing was left to Grell Sutcliff. For one nauseatingly long afternoon, I was subject to him modeling the lot. As payment for having me as his captive audience, I made him promise to spit in William Spears’ face when he got back to the office. I’ve never seen the Gay Red Reaper quite so speechless.

The remainder of her estate was another matter, and to this, she had concocted a careful back-up plan with Uncle Rafael, completely unbeknownst to me until I read that damn letter.

“I told her she was bein’ morbid, worrying about getting killed. But she knew. Even before she got attacked in the pool that night. Somehow, she _knew,”_ he told me at the funeral.

What I didn’t tell him, of course, was that the murder she was anticipating was to come from yours truly.

Uncle Rafael was instructed to have Michael Jacobs separate just enough funds from the main account that would be easily overlooked, launder those funds again, and then give it as cash to Gilda for safekeeping in the manor. That explained her private conversations with Jacobs. The little mix had embezzled from her own embezzled funds! If – _when_ – she were – _was_ – to be killed, that cash was to go to Nancy Sorenson. The rest of her estate would surely be investigated and seized, but the cash given to Nancy would be free and clear and _safe_.

Upon further investigation into her murder, it would be discovered that Gilda had embezzled from her father, placing guilt on her head. Rafael, Michael Jacobs and Evelyn Shapiro were all safe from blame, as they had never used their real identities during the embezzling and laundering. Only Bellows had seen their faces and knew who they really were, and he wasn’t a problem anymore. Yes – I’m getting to that.

Gilda got her wish on all that.

But the rest of it was not as tidy, given the little wrench that Spears and my beloved Ciel threw into the pot… Still, Uncle Rafael and I managed.

I told Rafael that I was going to kill Bellows and leave town.

What can I tell you? I was furious with the man. Not as furious as I was with William T. Spears, but still. Additionally, it made sense for everyone else concerned – because dead men tell no tales. Rafael knew I was angry, and not only did he not try to stop me, he _helped._

Back when it had all happened, the restaurant employees had hit the ground when the shooting started, so they were no good to the police. But with myself and Grell Sutcliff as expert witnesses to the crime (after I ‘convinced’ the Reaper he _was_ going to talk to them, whether he liked it or not), Gilda’s father was apprehended and jailed within a few days.

However, with a little help from Rafael and his ‘friends’, I relieved the burden of law-abiding tax-paying citizens such as yourself from having to pay for Norman Bellows’ continued existence while he was still in police custody. Yes, that means what you think it does. Another _freebie_ on my part.

In any case, I scared the hell _into_ him, so to speak. He lay on the floor of his cell and died within minutes after the heart attack. I’d _wanted_ to do much worse to him, but I’d promised Gilda that I would never touch him, so I didn’t.

I stood carefully out of the way of the cameras in the facility, but I am sure there was enough there to form a picture. And I already had motive for his murder: the butler, loyal to the end, perhaps a little smitten, grieving over his lost Mistress, going after her killer and taking justice into his own hands. Sooner or later the finger would point at me, the only other known person in this little puzzle.

Gilda was dead. I was wanted for Bellows’ murder. But everyone _else_ would be safe.

Gilda had _planned_ her own guilt, all to save Nancy and give Neil a chance. She’d taken advantage of her money to a degree, and only after much convincing on my part that she should. But the only thing she truly ever took for herself was her conservatory certificate.

I was just a perk. One that she fell in love with.

_Stupid girl. Stupid, **sweet** girl._

 

+

 

After I killed Bellows, Uncle Rafael hid me in his own home. His plan was to give me a chunk of cash and get me a new identity by the next day, sending me off with enough funds to live comfortably somewhere discreet until he could find me work. I had no plans to actually _do_ any of that, of course, but…

Giving Bellows a heart attack wasn’t enough to satisfy the unsettled feelings roiling around inside me, despite Ciel making me feel quite full. Just in that moment, I needed something more.

Beautiful Fortunado Fernandez proved to be the perfect outlet. I was ‘sleeping’ under his own roof that night, so seducing him would have been easy and convenient – but the boy was already quite distraught at Gilda’s loss, so it was no surprise that we wound up in bed together without me even having to work for it.

I took him dominantly, using the same position I so favored when pleasing Gilda. He gasped softly, and his body contracted so blissfully around my cock that I had to stop from closing my eyes and falling into the fantasy that nothing had gone awry and it was still Gilda beneath me. With minimal coaxing, Fortunado ejaculated into my skilful hands, warm and sticky… and _alive_. I pulled his body up to lean against mine, polishing off our moment together with a long, sweet kiss.

Do not misconstrue me – he was exquisite to touch and satisfying to gaze down at while I brought him to a grief-ridden ecstasy… but I didn’t lose myself to the situation, not even in the least. It was too soon, and I was still too angry to really enjoy it.

Fortunado began to cry. This did not irritate me too much; indeed, I had expected such a reaction. I simply held him, providing much-needed comfort to his mourning.

“I could tell you loved her, even if a butler isn’t supposed to,” he said to me then, as I wiped his tears away. “It wasn’t just kissing and hand-holding, was it? You did _this_ for her as well, didn’t you?”

I was not bound by any contract with him, so I was free to lie. But I saw no point in it.

“Yes. I loved her. I gave myself to her freely.”

“That’s good. I’m happy to know that. She didn’t get a lot of affection in her life,” the boy said, and his expression clouded over with grief. “She deserved a lot more–”

He sobbed again, and I held him tighter to me.

“She deserved much more than is possible for one such as I to give, Mr. Fernandez. But I offered her whatever I had to give, and she took it… and it made her happy.”

“She was perfect… wasn’t she?” he said through his tears, clinging to me with his arms around my neck.

I paused before answering him. No one is perfect, really, not even cats, but–

“She was damn close.”

I could have just left after dealing with Bellows. By all rights, I should have. But Gilda loved these people, so that seemed a bit too disrespectful to her memory.

I said goodbye, in my own way. After Fortune fell asleep, I left a note on their dining room table, expressing my thanks to the Fernandez household for all they had done, but that I did not want to be any more of a burden to them. I wrote that I was used to this sort of thing, and that they were not to seek me out any further.

The boy would get over me soon enough, and Uncle Rafael already understood the laws of the underworld. He’d respect my wishes.

 

+

 

That is my tale.

_That_ was the hefty price of obtaining a worthy soul, and in the end I was not the one that truly paid for it. _I_ am the one to blame. Any other demon would simply congratulate himself, relishing the exquisite meal in his tummy, and then move on as though nothing else mattered.

So why do I feel this way?

My first contract with a worthy soul – indeed my first _experience_ with one – was the Duchess Torylox. It was the beginning of my shtick as a servant as well. Our life together was rigid and organized; only _once_ did I step out of line, and believe me when I say I was punished for it. The Duchess was a force to be reckoned with, cruel and determined, a ‘player’ by the definition of any human’s culture.

Surprisingly, she went quietly in the end. Shame on me to have thought that another soul as worthy as hers would be just as easy to swallow. Convincing me of that was her last, greatest act of deceit.

Lesson learned? Why, that _revenge is a dish that is best served cold,_ of course.

Next came Ciel, Earl of Phantomhive. Desperate to undo the wrongs that had stolen his parents from him, he chose to contract with a demon instead of moving on to the eternal reward of heaven – a reward that was rightly his. He succeeded in his revenge, only to be given the ultimate punishment: being re-born as a demon himself.

Essentially altered from _who he was_ and miserable with his fate, he brought about his own death at the hands of another… then floundered as a homeless soul for over a hundred years. I can only believe that the strength of his fierce will is what saved him, as he was lucky not to have gone mad.

Lesson learned – _Be careful what you wish for._

Then there is Gilda Franks. A girl who set out to undo the sins of her father by way saving her little brother through an act of personal sacrifice. And even as she bravely stepped forward to do this, she was terrified of the fate that awaited her.

She eventually accepted oblivion, even if it still frightened her. I believe this was because she had learned to fear Hell, and was glad in the mistaken belief that she would never have to experience it. She came to love me, and need me, the one person she believed would _never_ betray her. I can only imagine what she thinks of me now.

_No good deed goes unpunished._

Lesson, very much so, learned.

Though my belly is full, and Ciel seems at peace, I refuse to simply abandon Gilda. I will return to Hell and search for my Mistress, on the likelihood that her soul has landed in that desolate and dangerous place. I do not know what this will accomplish, but I will still do it.

It seems odd, the way I can look back on it all now. I am critical of my decisions. I will nitpick my actions and disparage the way I handled both Ciel Phantomhive and Gilda Franks for years to come.

To be honest, after my experience with Ciel, I really should have seen the whole thing coming with Gilda–

A Teutonic name, meaning offering. _Sacrifice._

Her name had also been her nature. It _had_ proven problematic.

There is a sickness inside me, you see. One that screams at me to _win_ at all costs, and it makes me a fool.

If given the chance, would I take it all back and _not_ do it again? Not offer Ciel – who was too young to know what he was actually agreeing to – his chance at revenge? Not approach Gilda – who was too naïve to know that sacrifice is never accomplished without pain – in that café four years ago?

Not come when they called as they lay broken and dying? Not contract with them?

_Not_ grow to love them?

 

I think you already know the answer to that question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

+

 

_epilogue_

_to follow shortly_

 

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it, **please** leave a comment. Thanks!


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one.
> 
> ++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++  
> I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.  
> As always, thanks for reading!

 

+

 

**Gilded**

**Epilogue**

 

+

 

In a small mountainous park somewhere in Tuscany, Italy, a young man of twenty-seven lay dying, the victim of a robbery gone wrong. The man’s name was Rialdo DiNastro, and he liked to dabble in the occult, which is how a _demon_ ended up at his side, ready to bargain.

The demon, for whatever reason, appeared rather disinterested.

“Your girlfriend _cheated_ on you, you say, and you want her to _suffer?”_ The Demon taunted the boy in charming Italian with a dulcet English accent. He laughed bitterly, swiping at a feather. “Oh, dear. You’re going to have to do better than _that_. I’m feeling rather satisfied these days, you see. I won’t take up just any old contract. A cheating lover, how _very_ pedestrian.”

He yawned. Rialdo coughed up some blood, and the Demon grimaced. “Oh… and all over that lovely blue striped summer shirt you are wearing. Is that one hundred percent cotton?” He touched the fabric. “Yes. Yes it _is_. The bloodstains will be hard to get out if you wait too long.” Sensing the impending arrival of a Grim Reaper, he sing-songed to Rialdo, “You’d better hurry! Quick, make me an offer I _cannot_ refuse!”

But, to no avail. Rialdo just didn’t have it in him. As the dying man’s cinematic record began to climb out of him, the Demon sighed.

Having nothing better to do that day, he stood up and brushed some of the black feathers from his shoulders. He leaned back against a tree trunk, crossing one ankle over the other. Mindful of his long black tail, he stilled, and waited.

If he was lucky, the boy’s reaping just might have been assigned to Grell Sutcliff, and it would at least be entertaining to watch. But when the Reaper finally arrived, it was not one he recognized.

_Probably a fresh recruit,_ he surmised.

Demon and Reaper briefly acknowledged each other’s presence from a distance with a curt nod. Then they got a really good whiff of each other, and froze.

_Then_ her boss showed up, and all Hell broke loose.

 

+

 

The Reaper’s boss, whose name was William T. Spears, tired to kill the Demon. He despised all demons as a rule but he found this one in particular just _that_ much more detestable.

The Demon, whose name can be neither written using these letters nor pronounced by human mouths, hated that particular Reaper with a red-hot disgust which rose from the very depths of his black heart, so he definitely tried to kill him in return.

The Reaper, whose name was Gilda Louise Franks, loved that Demon very much, and was fond of most Reapers in general (there is a red one she completely adores), so she didn’t want to see either of them get hurt. She had unfinished business with the Demon, and the Spears fellow… Well frankly, he could get her _fired_.

Gilda bravely positioned herself between them and played the pacifist, reminding them that if either one tried to hurt the other any further, they would end up hurting _her_ as well. Gilda told William that while she appreciated his concern for her well-being, she was also a full-fledged Reaper and could take care of herself now. And she reminded the Demon that challenging her manager never led to good things, and shame on him for not remembering that from very recent past experiences.

William stood stock-still, cold eyes shooting daggers at the Demon, while he supervised Gilda (whom he still considered _his_ protégé) as she finished the ugly business of dealing with Rialdo DiNastro’s record. Then William made everyone highly uncomfortable as he lagged around for a bit expecting Gilda to return to headquarters with him. She informed him that Rialdo was her last reaping of the day and she was officially off the clock so any more time spent in his company might possibly construed as overtime and we wouldn’t want _that_ now would we? William then caught the Demon and Gilda making what was most certainly googly-eyes at each other from afar. Although repulsed by this, he finally got the hint and left them alone. Then they who were once Mistress and Butler, reunited at last, sat down on an old stone bench to have a long overdue, private conversation.

“Out of all the beautiful clothing I bought you, I cannot believe you have chosen to wear _that_.” She was wearing a very short plaid skirt.

“Hey! I had to sneak into Grell’s divine closet to get this baby back, and he caught me, so I had to _wrestle_ him for it! It was my _favorite_. Live with it.” She tugged at her top and grinned at him haplessly. “At least I’m wearing the maroon button down you liked so much, right?”

It was true, he had loved that shirt on her. Perhaps because it was the color of blood under a full moon… Although she could take the time out to properly button the cuffs instead of just letting them _flap_ there like that. _Tsk, so sloppy._ The fire-engine red patent penny loafers were still an eye-sore, but the white, lace-trimmed anklet socks screamed of school-girl sex and that definitely caught his eye. It made him wonder what the other intimates looked like.

“I am happy… and very _relieved_ to see you again, Miss,” he finally said. She smiled shyly, biting her lip, and blushed furiously. Gilda looked down at her feet, and began banging the back of her shoe heel on the stone bench in a nervous manner. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Where did you… no, scratch that. First off, _what_ exactly happened in that parking lot?”

“You were going to get me a cheeseburger,” Gilda said casually. Already exasperated with her, he frowned, and she laughed lightly. “Sorry. Will alluded that he had something in mind for me, right?”

He nodded stiffly. _“Spears,”_ he said, disgusted. “I want to tear him apart. _Slowly_.”

She sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. But, maybe you won’t hate him as much when I fill you in on the details.”

He smirked very unpleasantly. _“Doubtful.”_

“All right,” she scolded. “Maybe you won’t be as bent on killing him.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She nodded. “Fine,” she said curtly, “Here goes nothin’.” She crossed her arms and leveled a gaze at him. “William T. Spears struck up an odd association with Ciel Phantomhive about sixty years ago, after he found the little boy’s soul drifting on the outskirts of our dimension. You know Ciel floated aimlessly after he’d been killed as a demon, right?”

The Demon winced, hating the fact that Ciel had suffered as long, and even more harshly than he had. “I grew to hope that his death as a demon was also his end. That he no longer existed and was finally free from his pain.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that. The only way a soul can be obliterated is, well… _Oblivion._ Getting chowed on by a demon. And poor Ciel had missed his chance at that. Hell kicked his soul out, Heaven didn’t want it either, and he had nowhere to go. It was tragic, really.

“Eventually Ciel’s curiosity got the better of him, and they began to watch _you._ It became sport for the two of them, laughing at the contracts you engaged in.”

“They weren’t _that_ weak,” he said, bristling.

“That last one was! The one before me? Tommy Solomon – that poor boy. You oughta be ashamed!”

He sighed, defeated.

“Then you found _me_. And that day you asked William to chaperone when Grell came over to try on shoes? That was what sealed my fate, I’m afraid.”

His eyes widened. “It’s all _my_ fault, then,” he said, voice drifting off.

She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. No it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.” He looked despondent.

“Demon.” She tilted her head as he looked down at the ground. “Demon, look at me.”

Sad, red eyes shifted over to hers slowly, and her heart clenched for him.

“My fate changed because of that meeting. But I tell you, I am not unhappy with you. I am not unhappy with _anything_ that happened. So before you start beating yourself up too much, please let me finish.”

He frowned, and nodded.

“William got a whiff of my soul. He went to the Reaper Library afterwards and checked out my record, and read the whole thing up to that point. Then he read my father’s record. Being in a position of power, he was able to get a look at future dispatch orders, and sure enough, my death was on the list. Again.”

“Again?”

“Under normal circumstances, I was scheduled to die in that alley. The Undertaker himself was supposed to collect me. But after contracting with you, I had a new date of death.”

“But I had planned to _wait_ –”

The Demon clammed up, realizing he’d revealed too much.

“Ah _hah!_ I _knew_ it!” she cried, sounding absolutely… gleeful. He bristled. “So you _were_ toying with delaying it – and _much_ longer that I thought,” she said, sounding absolutely delighted with herself. She looked up at the sky, suddenly smug. “You loved being with me.”

When she looked back at him, his eyes were twinkling. Sighing, she shook her head and continued.

“Listen. I know how much you enjoy planning things… but my new date of death wasn’t actually up to you. After reading our records, William sort of deduced that my own father was going to shoot me. He just needed to be present when that happened – with the records, the bookmark… and Ciel’s soul to pull it all off.

“William is – _was_ an administrator in Staffing. He doesn’t just Reap. He trains recruits, and he has an eye for finding them. He decided that he wanted to submit me for Reaper evaluations himself. My compassion made me more than qualified for the position, but it was the rarity of my soul that struck a chord in him. He’d get another huge promotion for sponsoring someone like me. And, incidentally, he _did._ He’s the Staffing Association _Manager_ , now.”

The Demon glowered, and the leaves on the trees behind him trembled. Gilda was slightly shocked at this rather open display of power, but then she reminded herself that he _was_ very angry.

_“Please_ stop that.” He looked over at her to find she was frowning and pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingertips. “You’re making me lightheaded.”

He complied, immediately. “My apologies, Miss. I simply cannot believe Ciel would do something _that_ dastardly. _Spears_ , yes, but not _him.”_

“Oh, Demon… you know perfectly well Ciel was capable of getting his heart quite dirty, if not his hands. Besides, he saw things from another angle. With or without them, my death was imminent. This was the most optimal solution for all of us – it gave me a fighting chance for something other than Hell _or_ Oblivion, and it gave you the meal you needed.”

“Yes – but what did _he_ get out of it? Foolish boy.”

She smiled at him sadly. Her voice was gentle when she asked, “William is ambitious. And _very_ clever. His plan needed Ciel to work, but he had something to offer your former Master as well.”

“And what was that?”

She looked at him, surprised. “Really, I thought that was obvious. Ciel was tired. He had no sense of belonging to anything. He was restless.” She gave the Demon a sweet smile. “But he is at peace now, isn’t he?”

The Demon’s face, which had been twisted with anger, smoothed out. “Yes. He is.”

Silence fell between them, until she eventually spoke. “Ciel, he was… _is_ a stubborn little brat, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Like you were. But very pure. Adorable. _Delicious._ Just like you.” The Demon stared at the trees in front of them with a far away look in his glowing eyes. “He hasn’t even begun to diminish. Not one single bit.”

When he looked back at her, she was smiling. Watching him.

She sighed. “After Ciel hijacked our contract and you ate him, our connection was gone. So I was free to die… and be judged.”

He crossed his arms, looking her over. “But how did Ciel _do_ that?”

“I was weakened,” she said quietly. “ _Dying._ Ciel pushed his way in and shoved me aside. He learned how from his experience with Alois Trancy.”

He gaped at her.

“Yeah, I know a thing or two about your past now. Live with it.” She smirked. “Anyhow, with me bleeding out you had very little time left to make a decision. Eat Ciel, or lose him a second time. Even though you didn’t know _my_ fate at that point, William knew which decision you’d make. “I told you he’s clever. No matter how much you may hate him, You have to admit he outdid you that time.”

The Demon narrowed his eyes, and a vicious look came over his face again.

“I know. It’s remarkable how much influence a talented Reaper can have on an angry human, isn’t it?”

The Demon thought of Sutcliff and Madame Red. “Yes. Yes it is.”

She paused, taking a deep breath, even though _she_ didn’t need to anymore, either. “It must be hard for you. Trying to decide which one of them you hate more,” she said. “But I don’t hate Ciel at all, and I can’t hate Will that much, either. They took a great risk this would work, but it _did_. Let’s leave aside the fact that Will got a big promotion,” she begged, and the Demon curled his lip at Gilda’s words. “Just consider everything else. Ciel can finally rest, you finally got fed, and I got a second chance. I was allowed to choose.”

“Yes. Allowed. But by _whom?”_

“Never you mind, Demon,” she teased.

“Alexander. _Please_ , call me Alex.”

Gilda smirked. “Don’t you want me to call you _Sebastian?”_

The Demon smiled wickedly. “That isn’t really my name either. But I would prefer it if _you_ called me by the name _you_ gave me.”

“All right then… _Alex_ ,” she said softly, giving him a brilliant smile. “I was given two choices. One; go straight to Hell, immediately and forever, for having contracted with you.” The Demon paled at the thought and she didn’t miss his discomfort. “Or… go to _work_.”

“But, as a _Reaper?”_ he asked, looking like he’d swallowed human food.

“ _Heaven_ , whatever that is, was and always will be closed to me. So this is still a bit of a punishment, having to watch as a human suffers and dies.” She thought of something, and brightened. “But just like you, Reapers have to come from _somewhere_ , right?”

“You’ve learned quite a bit since dying, haven’t you my dear?”

“Yep. For instance, now I know where your kind comes from as well.” She smiled happily. “I would have _loved_ to have seen you as a little boy–”

“You can stop _right there_ , Mistress.”

“Oh! Don’t be so uptight! I bet you were adorable.”

“I was an _abomination._ When I died, I didn’t get the offer to become a demon because I’d been a goody-two shoes.” His ruby eyes glittered at her. “I used to pull the legs off of bugs.”

“Big deal… all little boys do that.”

“Do they eat them afterwards?”

_“Urgh.”_ she grimaced, closing her eyes and sticking her tongue out. “Fucking _bugs,”_ she muttered. “I _still_ hate ‘em.”

Immediately, he stomped a sexy stiletto boot heel on the ground, sending out just enough energy to obliterate all the nearby insects. Momentarily stunned, she opened her eyes wide, and shivered. Then she smiled and shook her head, laughing at him.

**_There’s_** _my Gilda,_ he thought, chuckling.

“I want to thank you for sharing details about your kind – and your _self_ , with me, while we were contracted together. I know now just how much you hated that. It must have been hard on you.”

“Remarkably, it wasn’t.”

Gilda looked down, blushing. “It explains a lot, though. If you think about it a certain way.”

“How so?”

“You entered your life as a demon with a full-grown demon’s body, right?”

“Yes,” he said, not remembering it fondly. “Unlike Ciel, who was forced into being demonic through erroneous circumstances, I _chose_ it, and I was given the option of having an adult’s body right off. After that, it was one mistake after the other. I was very violent… and impetuous.” He sighed, sounding troubled.

“Because you still had the mentality of a five-year-old human boy.”

He gaped at her, angry. “Who in the hell told you _how_ young I was?”

“Grell did… We snuck out for a drink one night when Will wasn’t looking, and we got _totally_ trashed… I missed you, Alex. _So much._ I cried. He cried. Then he told me shit.” The Demon narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, stop that. If you hadn’t wanted him to know any details about your private life, you never would have told him in the first place. And I’d have gotten the truth out of you myself, sooner or later. Now tell me, how many children get recruited like you did?”

“It is very rare, Miss.”

“There. See? _You_ weren’t the abomination, Demon. Being taken as a rotten kid who was in need of a good spanking and never getting one before he died? _That_ was the abomination. You had to do all your growing up as a demon, so it’s no wonder you are conflicted. No wonder you are _different._ You didn’t pull _my_ legs off and eat them, did you?” She smiled. “It just took you a lot longer to grow up than most people.”

“It shouldn’t have to take tens of millennia.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand, their first skin-on-skin contact in a very long time. They both shivered with the sudden rush of two souls meeting.

“That feels…”

“I know. We don’t need our contract marks to do that anymore. I’m divine. You’re demonic. We can do it anytime we want, now.”

He fell silent, staring at her hand on his, reveling in the brush of her soul against his, faint thought it was. Taking a breath, she removed her hand.

_Slow down, dummy,_ she thought. _You have all the time you need, now._

Gilda smiled at the Demon sympathetically, and he remembered that he really did love her. In his own way. He stared at her for a moment, and she could not tell what he was thinking.

“I know all of this is a lot to absorb,” she sighed, beginning to ramble, “You remember how much I _hated_ it when one person would _judge_ another in front of me and now it’s my whole entire _job_ to judge a person’s _life_ …” she stopped, noticing that he was watching her with a small smile playing at his lips. She cleared her throat. “But can you really picture _me_ in Hell? Talk about a soft target.”

“I searched for you, Mistress. I believed I had failed you. As soon as I completed doing the things I had promised you, I went back to Hell and began looking for you. I now see that was futile,” he said, with a trace of bitterness.

“I’m so sorry, Alexander.” She winced. “I was worried you might have done that. I felt kinda bad... The truth is I wasn’t allowed much contact while I was still a recruit. William was very careful with the reapings he assigned me to. Careful, as in he managed to keep me away from any humans _you_ might be interested in. I thought about you a lot, though. It drove William nuts when I zoned out like that,” she laughed, hiding a small smile.

“Ah… _‘zoned out’?_ What is that?”

She bit the inside of her lip, fighting not to smile harder. “Let’s just say I wasn’t thinking about Reaper qualifications, and… I sighed. Like a girl. _Frequently_.”

He was touched, truly. But he needed for her to understand.

“If you _had_ been sent to Hell, I would have found you,” he whispered. “Ciel’s soul will keep me from having to feed again for a very long time. I was fully prepared to stay with you, Mistress. To _protect_ you, for as long as I could have.” He said this with the utmost confidence.

“And I doubt I would have survived very long without you,” she said very quietly. “Thank you, Alex.”

“Not at all, Miss,” he smiled at her. “So, I take it you have completed your training and you are a full-fledged Reaper now?”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning, “All bets are off. I get the reapings I get… and even Will can’t be everywhere, now can he?” She glanced at the mischievous smirk on the Demon’s lips, then continued. “My grades were way better than his, too. Straight A’s.”

“No doubt this rankles him. _That_ pleases me.”

“Hey – Check out my new specs!”

Her Reaper spectacles, no longer the plain style of a recruit, had lovely magenta tortoise-shell frames with tiny pink sapphires imbedded in the arms. “Grell hates ‘em. He wanted me to get red, of course, but I knew this color was more suited.”

“Indeed it is,” he said, admiring the way the frames went perfect with her flushed cheeks. Suddenly, the Demon’s face broke into a seductive smile. “Oh my. You do realize that this makes us _competitors.”_

She smiled, blushing harder. “Yes.”

“So I’ll be seeing you somewhat frequently, then.” He grinned at her, openly flirting now. _“Splendid!”_

The Demon draped his arm over the back of the bench, not yet touching her on his own, but clearly establishing the desire to do so. They sat in silence for a moment, him watching her from under hooded, happy eyes, her blushing and banging a shoe heel on the bench again.

“It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” She looked up at the ancient trees, swaying gently in a warm breeze, then looked back into his eyes.

“Yes,” he replied, still staring at her. “The clouds are especially nice to look at.”

Gilda zoned out, remembering.

The Demon crossed his long, slender legs, strong thigh muscles straining against the tight black leather. Seeing her eyes drop to his crossed legs, he smiled and shifted, raising his thigh up and down, to caress one leg against the other – like a pretty woman showing off a fancy new pair of dress shoes.

Gilda glanced down at his stiletto boot heels when the sunlight caught on the shiny steel points, and smiled knowingly. She leaned over and helped herself to tracing the cold, smooth steel with a fingertip, neatly avoiding the sharp point. The friction from her divine touch vibrated through his boot and rose up his body, making his insides shiver with lust. He hid the reaction well, save for the twitch at the end of his sensitive tail.

She removed her finger, shaking it and wincing, smiling at the electric buzz that had sank right into the bones. “How _do_ you stand on those things, Alex?”

“It helps when you understand that I am not actually walking in them as a _human_ , yes?”

He watched her appreciating the footwear, waiting for the inevitable.

“Uh, can I…?”

_There it is. I’m surprised she isn’t drooling._

“No, Miss, you may _not_ borrow them.”

“Damn,” she muttered, sitting back up. Clearing her throat, she moved on. “Fortune must have been very upset. Did you see to his well-being after my funeral?”

“He was. I did. The young man was _very_ grateful,” the Demon said suggestively, playing up the experience.

Gilda narrowed her eyes at him, and when she was sure that she’d actually heard what she’d heard, she gasped. “Oh… you _slut,”_ she almost shouted, but was not able to keep the humor from her voice. His smug grin confirmed everything. She shook her head, laughing. “Well… I’m glad. I figured he was grief-stricken, and he _did_ have a horrible crush on you. Still, I would have been insanely jealous if you had done that while I was still alive, you know.”

“I would never have given my affection to another while contracted with my Mistress. Flirted with them, absolutely. Seduced them to get what I needed, of course. Had my way with them to achieve a goal… reluctantly, yes… but never my affection. That belonged to you.”

She fell quiet, too shy to look at him. He gazed at her, and reached out to push a lock of hair behind one of her ears, as it was blocking his view of the sparse freckles on her cheek. She smiled, noticing that he was being very mindful of his sharp black nails, so close to her delicate skin.

He watched as she tended to her scythe, which was a heavy, familiar-looking spear. For all appearances it seemed entirely too large for her to handle, yet she did, and deftly.

The Demon frowned, a thought eating away at his mind. “That Death Scythe of yours… is that…?”

Gilda smiled and blushed again. She shifted her scythe from one hand to another nervously. “Recognize that, do you? I commissioned it myself. It’s from the _Spartan_ era.” The Demon smiled wickedly. She giggled. “I found the book Alex.”

“Apologies, Miss. They were such _cute_ little lipstick stains. I simply couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.”

“Yeah, well,” she cleared her throat and looked away, suddenly nervous. “You as much admitted that to me with your very last words. I wanted you to find them, I guess.”

He didn’t want her to be nervous, but they still had a few sensitive things to get out in the open. Reluctantly, he asked, “Is Miss aware of what I did to her father?”

“Yes,” was her only reply.

“Is Miss angry with me for that?”

After a beat, she shook her head and said, “No, Alexander,” while smiling. He frowned for a moment, and she placed her hand on his, patting it in a comforting fashion, little electric taps. “What’s done is done. Stop worrying about it. What about Cat? And her babies?”

“Oh… I _do_ miss them terribly, but… Michael Jacobs and Evelyn Shapiro were preparing to move in together in an old brownstone in New York City. They took the two calicos, who refused to be separated. Fortunado Fernandez kept Cat, Ink, and the other blue-furred kitten. They live with him at Uncle Rafael’s house. I wasn’t happy to lose Cat, but at least she got to keep some of her babies, and they are all safe with humans that truly love them.”

She smiled at his tender expression. “How about my little brother Neil? Have you seen him lately?”

“I’ve taken a little peek now and then. The money you gave to Nancy enabled him to attend a school for children that are gifted in the arts. He is doing _brilliantly_ with the cello. Very promising.”

“I know,” she said, fairly glowing with satisfaction. “By the way, regarding that… I never got to thank you for that, either – fulfilling that last part of our contract. Our contract had been broken before I died, so there was no rule dictating you _had_ to carry out the instructions in my last will and… and my _note_ to you.” She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m very grateful.”

The Demon touched his face where her lips had been, smiling down at her as she was doing the same thing with her lips. “It tickles,” she said, giggling softly.

“There is no need to thank me for that, Mistress. What sort of a butler would I have been if I had not honored our agreement in full?”

She nodded. “You were a very good butler. Among other things.”

“All in the name of duty, Miss,” he whispered, leaning a bit closer to her.

“If you say so. But getting back to Neil… You watch him?”

“Yes. He’s…”

The Demon decided it was best not to finish that statement, then she went ahead and finished it for him. “He’s like me,” she said, matter-of-factly, “and I’m not referring to just his musical talent. Not as strong a soul, but still…”

“He smells simply _divine_ ,” the Demon purred, unable to stop himself. His eyes glazed over and he scratched his chest lazily.

“Good Lord, you’ve got the same look on your face that I used to get when I played Brahms. _Leave him be_ , Alex,” she said, and the sharpness in her tone caught his attention. “Aren’t you full of Ciel for awhile, anyway? You don’t get to eat Neil. _No one does.”_

“I haven’t done a single thing to him,” he said tartly, defending himself. Then he thought, _Not **yet,** anyway._

“And you won’t. I went to extreme pains to see to it that he has a chance.”

“Yes. _Extreme_ pains. As in, you paid with a violent, sudden death. I wasn’t happy about that.”

“Regardless of the nasty way I went, my death was _always_ a part of our contract.”

He didn’t respond, and a look of regret passed across his face. “I swear, Miss, if I had _known_ the real reason why you contracted with me, I…”

“You _what?”_ she asked, teasing.

“I would have done so anyway,” he sighed, looking down.

She smiled.

“And look at what happened. Our contract was supposed to be completed right after I finished my education at the conservatory. You were to wound me fatally, then extract your payment as I died, and then carry out my will. That was it.”

He winced. “So clinical.”

“See? That’s what I’m getting at. Even if your intentions were to wait just one more day, you were allowing your feelings for me to cloud your judgment. That’s part of what cost you Ciel. And I am sure that’s at least one of the reasons _he_ intervened – because he was so tired, and he still loves you, and he saw you were making the same mistake all over again.”

He touched her hand, briefly, then asked, “But Mistress… if that _hadn’t_ happened, if you hadn’t been shot… would it _really_ have been so bad to wait? We made a good pair. We were happy, after we worked out all the kinks. You could have lived on another decade or two, composing, performing… with your loyal butler at your beck and call. Cooking your meals, vacuuming your rugs, defending your life.”

_“Oh, Miss Gilda, a demon can stop his heart from doing what it wants,”_ she said, imitating his accent almost perfectly. “That’s _bullshit_. You are as susceptible to the whims of your heart, however black, as the rest of us are.” Her voice grew softer as she continued. “But we both knew you were starving by then.”

“That may be, but what’s a decade or two after a several centuries of such hunger? I may even have put it off for longer.”

She blushed again. “Stop changing the subject, Alexander.”

He smirked, gleefully running with it. “I was perfectly willing to remain your devoted servant. Cheerfully tending to your every whim, making as many pot roasts as you liked… scrubbing you clean, lavishing you with affection, warming your bed, satisfying your baser urges–”

_“Alex!”_ She tried, failing, not to laugh. “Listen to me. You stay away from Neil, or so help me…”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence, unable to stop his ruby-red eyes from twinkling even as they bore into her own. The green of Gilda’s eyes was still captivating; only now, as a Reaper, they were as bright as a new blade of grass.

“Do I have to _order_ you, Demon?” The threat in her voice was still present, but there was a distinct sauciness there, too. At least she’d hung on to that. He _liked_ that in a girl. And a boy.

“Shall we strike a deal?”

Her eyes ‘bugged out’, just like before.

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’ll stay away from him, if you give me something in return.”

“My soul cannot be bargained with anymore. I’m not human, it’s mine to keep, forever, even if I am killed as a Reaper. If that happens then my soul goes straight to Hell. That’s the deal I made.” She eyed him as he looked away with a thoughtful expression.

“Then I shall see to it that you never get killed as a Reaper, my dearest Miss.”

She blushed, and bit the side of her cheek, and he could smell her delicious blood, growing hot and rising up to meet him.

“In any case, do not fret. We can make deals. You still have what I want.”

“You… Did you say _want?”_

“Don’t be silly. You heard me.”

She looked down, pretending to be interested in the grass.

“You still have lips, Mistress, do you not?”

She froze, and looked up at him. _Ah, there it is. The perfect ‘o’ of her mouth. I have **missed** that._

“Blood still pumps through your body. I can still smell the sweetness of it. You still have arms to hold on to me, and a body for me to worship, and I’m sure that the perfectly pink, juicy juncture between your soft thighs which I never _could_ get enough of is still–”

“Oh my…” she muttered, blushing so fiercely she had to hide her face in her hands.

_Magenta. Lovely…_

“Why do you think your fellow Reaper Grell Sutcliff is always after me? It’s not because he _doesn’t_ have physical wants.” The Demon pulled one of Gilda’s hands away, and she was biting her lip, trying hard not to smile. “He’s still trying to get in my trousers,” he sighed. “I’d much rather have _you_ in there, Mistress.”

The Demon took her other hand down as well, and controlled the sensations, forcing his soul to retreat inside so that they could touch each other without going crazy.

_Not just yet. When the time is right, I will let it all go. Because I **want** to._

He shifted a little closer to her side. The pretty young Reaper grew very still for a moment, and the vicious old Demon thought he may have gone too far with his indecent proposition.

She looked down shyly. “You know, it’s just Gilda now. You can call me _Gilda_.”

“Well then…” he said, trying it out, _“Gilda.”_ It felt strange though, and he knew he wouldn’t use it often.

She plucked an errant smoke-colored feather from where it had drifted down between them. Twirling the hollow shaft between her fingertips, Gilda admired this token of his true form before letting it go. She took a breath, and spoke in a small voice.

“All right.”

He gaped at her, for just a second, then smiled… dark, dangerous and _very_ seductive. Just like she remembered. She shivered, and he narrowed his eyes at her playfully.

“Your answer is yes, then?”

She tilted her head at him. “This isn’t a contract. And it’s not like you are asking me to do something I don’t enjoy,” she said, reaching back to intentionally cradle her death scythe in the corner of the bench. William was going to be angry enough when he learned she’d let a demon – _that_ demon, in fact – plunder her brand new Reaper body. But he would have her spectacles, her job, her head, her very _existence_ if she lost her scythe.

When she looked back at the Demon and stood up, he saw that confidence had returned to her eyes. It reminded him of the recent past. Their short, remarkable time together as Mistress and Butler.

It felt… _comfortable_.

Gilda moved to seat herself in his lap, and he uncrossed his legs, transforming immediately into his human form.

“Why… Why did you do that?” she asked, sitting down.

He frowned at her. “You know perfectly well why.”

“You can’t hurt me anymore. I’m divine.”

“It will _still_ hurt.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that. The damage will not be permanent.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Well… no. I just… I know it takes a certain amount of effort on your part, Alex. You have that option now, you know, you don’t _have_ to transform – not just because of me, anyway.”

He glared at her. “Stop being so sacrificial. _You_ have _that_ option now.” She frowned, and looked away from his face. Putting a gentle finger under her chin, the Demon lifted the Reaper’s face until her eyes met his again.

“If I transform, _ever_ , it’s because _I_ choose to. And I choose not to hurt you. You’re going to have to live with that, Miss.”

Slowly, a sweet smile crept over her face. “Thank you,” she said, leaning into his embrace. One long arm encircled her waist. He pressed her upper body closer to his chest with the other hand, and she draped her arms around his neck – holding on to him exactly the way he used to favor.

To her credit, she didn’t make one single rude comment about the erection that she suddenly felt growing under her derrière. Gilda smiled. _He never was good at restraining his cock around me,_ she thought happily.

She trembled, though she was not quite sure why.

He hugged her close. “Are you all right Gilda?”

“I’m fine, Alex,” she said, smiling.

“Is it adrenaline?”

“Maybe. But I thought I didn’t have that sort of stuff anymore.”

“You do. I know that particular odor. Very well.”

“Then I guess you still know how to make me shake like a leaf.”

“Miss.”

Softly, he whispered his thanks for such a compliment, and kissed the top of her head.

Relaxing against him, she tugged on a lock of his black hair and whispered, “I’ll yield to you, Demon, as long as you _promise_ to keep your hands off of Neil.”

“I promise, I will not so much as _talk_ to the boy, ever, until you order otherwise,” he whispered. The Demon closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the intimacy, finding comfort in how she had the same rich, pleasing scent, but it was much stronger than before. “Do we have a deal, Miss?”

The Reaper looked up at him, eyes earnest, and for a moment the Demon thought she was going to change her mind. Panic welled at the thought of losing her again. Cupping her face, he leaned in while whispering her name, questioning her mood. When she did not answer, he attempted to steal a kiss instead. She leaned back in tandem, putting two fingers against his lips to stop him. He cocked an eyebrow at her, slightly irritated.

Gilda hesitated a moment before saying, “I know of an old, quiet bed and breakfast in Cecina, just up the coast from here. The owner is a cute old lady who doesn’t bother with the silliness of passports.”

“And?” he asked around her fingers through clenched teeth. There was a tone to his voice that anyone else might have found threatening, but she recognized it for what it was – frustration.

“Well, it’d be a nice place to finalize the terms of our new agreement… don’t you think?”

He tilted his head and frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

He wanted _no_ interruptions.

“Tell me that Grell Sutcliff did _not_ follow you here.”

“He’s in the Philippines. An airliner is about to crash.”

 

+

 

Benedetta Glorioso teetered on her old fashioned heels as she slowly forced her ninety-two year old body to get up the stairs and deliver a fresh carafe of coffee _and_ a fresh pot of Earl Grey tea to her only guests.

They were an odd but attractive pair that had arrived late yesterday afternoon. The woman was extremely cute and young. She wore a button down maroon shirt with a short plaid skirt and bright red shoes. Her eyes were a vivid green, she wore strange pink glasses, and her long, light brown hair was shiny and wavy. For some reason she carried no purse but had a huge spear in her free hand. The man was beautiful; tall and elegant, and composed in an unearthly manner. He wore tailored clothes that were all black, and had shiny black hair that danced delightfully around his dark red eyes. They were very distracted by each other but finally requested a private room with a view of the Ligurian Sea.

Like the male half of that same couple, Benedetta also wore all black. Black closed-toe pumps, black stockings, black petticoats, black unmentionables, and a black dress with black lace and little black pearl buttons. Even her rosary was black. She was obviously widowed, and was obviously staying that way, even though Ernesto, her husband of eight years, had been dead these past fifty-two.

She didn’t understand why her guests needed both coffee _and_ tea, and it had irked her to no end that she’d had to make both. The tea had been a request made by the man. His Italian was perfect, but his accent had revealed him to be an Englishman – _‘Do endeavor to make it strong, madam’_ , she mimicked silently on the stairs _, ‘stronger than you ever have in your life, if you please, and very hot’._

Limey bastard.

Still, they were a nice young couple, clearly very much in love, or at least very much in _need of a room_. In any case, they had paid in cash, just smacking _gobs_ of it and for the one night only, so… what did she care?

Softly knocking on the door, Benedetta entered after a few polite beats and was surprised to find the woman looking at her, saying _good morning_ – also in perfect Italian, but her accent was distinctly American. It was usually the man that rose first, with the lady dead to the world and sleeping off whatever he’d done to her the night before. But the woman was indeed awake, sitting up in bed, wearing nothing but her pink spectacles, her torso wrapped in a sheet. Her male companion, beautiful specimen that he was, lay nestled against her bared legs, his face buried in her side with one arm tossed possessively over her hips. The other half of the woman’s sheet was draped across his backside, and he slumbered in a way that made him look positively angelic.

But of course, that _couldn’t_ be. Her eyes may be old but Benedetta knew how men behaved, and she remembered the tiny, salacious smirk on his perfect face from the night before.

The woman caught Benedetta staring at her bedmate, but her only response was to shrug her shoulders and smile.

“I’ve brought your coffee,” the widow whispered as she busied herself, setting the tray on a small writing desk in the room. “And the _tea,”_ she said, her tone clearly expressing a dislike for the beverage. “But I’m afraid to set it up, I might wake him.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” the woman answered, giving Benedetta an impish smile. She ran her fingers through the man’s pretty hair and smiled down at him affectionately. “He hasn’t slept in a very long time. He’ll be out for awhile longer.”

The woman climbed out of bed, covering her nudity by taking the sheet with her for Benedetta’s sake only. She left the man where he lay, fast asleep on his stomach without a stitch of clothes on. Flawlessly smooth, pale skin, slender, long, well-muscled limbs, _perfect_ buttocks, a very strong back, and a shock of shiny black hair… all this was laying against _her_ white cotton sheets. The old woman’s mind was flooded with images of romantic oil paintings and beautiful marble statues.

When Benedetta gasped, the woman turned to look back at the man, then faced the inn’s proprietor and winced. “Oh… I’m sorry. That was rude, yes?”

“Oh no, my dear, I don’t mind _that_. I’ve seen more than my share of naked men over the years while running this place. It’s just _that_ one, he’s so very…” the widow’s voice trailed off.

Waiting a beat, the woman offered, _“Bellissima?”_ then poured herself a cup of coffee.

Benedetta sighed. _“Yes,”_ she finally answered, with a definitive tone.

“I know,” the woman sing-songed. “You should see the _other_ side.” The two women shared a giggle. “Anyhow, ogle him all you want. He likes it.”

“You should get him to marry you, and _soon_ ,” the widow gushed.

The woman smirked, shrugging her shoulders again. “We’re in no hurry for that sort of thing. We’re in no hurry at _all._ Not anymore.” She sat down at the desk and stretched happily. “I do hope we didn’t disturb the other guests last night,” she said, facing Benedetta so that the old woman could read her lips better.

“Ah, but there _are_ no other guests, Miss,” Benedetta answered, smiling and wrinkling beguilingly, “And these do not work as they once did,” she quipped, pointing a crooked finger at an ear.

The old widow had indeed been successfully running that bed and breakfast for a very long time, and it was time that had taught her the propriety necessary to do so. In this case, while her failing ears hadn’t actually _heard_ anything, it was propriety that begged her to keep certain facts to herself.

One fact was that the common room was right below the only occupied guest room. Another fact; the common room held the only TV in the house. And if Benedetta Glorioso hadn’t been watching re-runs of Italian-dubbed _Benny Hill_ the night before, she never would have seen the tiny flecks of dry, dusty plaster as it came loose and floated down to the throw rug in front of the TV, which in turn caused her to look up and smile at the chandelier as it trembled.

 

+

 

After the widow left and shut the door behind her, the Demon cracked open one fiery ruby eye and glared at the Reaper. She smirked back, completely at ease with his mood, and sipped her espresso.

He yawned and stretched, and it was lovely to watch… _human_ limbs extended, muscles strained, joints cracked. Raising himself up on one elbow, the Demon stared at the young Reaper a moment before saying, “Mistress… I do _not_ enjoy being ogled.”

“Oh, _sure_ you don’t,” she said, then took another sip, enjoying the fact that at least she could still properly taste human food. “Now get over here and smell your tea while it’s still hot.”

 

+

 

_finito_

_+_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always compile a playlist while writing a story, which I listen to when I am not writing. I gather some songs before I start, and then add (and subtract) as needed while I go. For Gilded, I had a playlist of over fifty songs.  
> As I think this is more interesting than showing you pictures of my workspace or talking about my writing habits, below is a short list of the pieces that were played most frequently. Some were about Ciel, some were for Gilda, some Sebastian.
> 
> The Child is Gone, Fiona Apple.  
> Ain't that a Kick in the Head, Dean Martin.  
> Meditation from Thais, Jules Massenet.  
> I scare myself, Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks.  
> Tear in Your Hand, Tori Amos.  
> Flight Over Africa, John Barry.  
> Rubberband Girl, Watching You Without Me, and Oh To Be In Love, Kate Bush.  
> In The Hall of the Mountain King, from Peer Gynt, Edvard Grieg.  
> I Can’t Untie You From Me, Grayson Hugh.  
> Satellite, Guster.  
> Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, Franz Liszt.  
> Audrey’s Dance, Angelo Badalamenti.  
> Lullabye, Concrete Blonde.  
> You Make Loving Fun, and Say You Love Me, Fleetwood Mac.  
> Sonata No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 13, "Pathetique", Ludwig van Beethoven.  
> Die Alone, and Masochist, Ingrid Michaelson.  
> Waltz in A-Flat Major, Op. 39 No. 15, Johannes Brahms.
> 
> +
> 
> This one hundred & fifty one thousand word monster of a fic required I put myself into the viewpoint of the Sebastian character, who (my opinion only) is a conflicted, beautiful, deadly, sometimes fervently evil, sometimes reluctantly evil, bisexual, ancient male demon. Personally, I am only (and barely) one of those things (don’t ask not telling). And I don’t particularly enjoy writing in first person. So this fic was a stretch, and more than a bit disturbing… but I persevered, as I was determined to finish it.  
> Given the lukewarm atmosphere, however, I doubt I shall go back and write the one-shots I’ve been considering for the other contracts. Folks, I am a tough girl, but even I have my limits on the invisibility factor.  
> That being said, I appreciate that this fic was read by a few people, and my thanks go out to those of you who actually took the time out to leave feedback. 
> 
> This story is now tagged as complete.
> 
>  
> 
> [ NOTES, Feb 2013, with regard to the tone of the notes above: This story leeched my energy, demanded my time, was a labor of love, and simply took over my life... that being said, I was not getting much feedback, and I became very disheartened. However, I had a small, core following of dedicated, wonderful readers on the sites that this fic was originally posted, and they are the people that kept it going. You know who you are :) and I thank you still. ]


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